


Vulnerable to Intention

by foxie_trot



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 20:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxie_trot/pseuds/foxie_trot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The crew, including Dean, Sam, Cas, Bobby, Picard, Data and Crowley, have just finished two months of intense data collection and experiments and are due for shore leave. However, Rear Admiral Zachariah puts their vacation on hold in order to investigate a nearby barren planet, which ends up being a little more adventure than the crew had anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank my incredible LJ beta's save_my_moose, jalu2 and ifelt_infinite. I am blown away by their insight and am so grateful for their help, and appreciate the time they took to help me shape this fic. Thanks also go to my amazing artist, evian_fork (LJ), who did such a great job! Please check her art: http://evian-fork.livejournal.com/131896.html
> 
> Also, a note about the fic, it is not necessary to have watched any Star Trek. I tried to write it so that even if you've only seen one episode or just have a vague idea about what Star Trek is, you'll still be able to read it :)

 

 

 

As far as first missions go, Dean thought this one could not have been better. It was a relief; the pressure of success had weighed on him from all sides, from Starfleet, his crew, his brother and himself. But once they had completed with very few complications, the pressure seemed to lift, for which Dean was extremely grateful. They had been responsible for issuing medical checkups and restocking the medical supplies on Annex SB G-6, an outlying colony in the northern Beta subdivision. Starfleet had been informed of their civilizations’ progress and on-site observations, and reports had been forwarded to the overseers at Administrative Operations. True, it had not been a particularly difficult mission, nor would there have been any cause for Dean to suspect that anything could go wrong. It was, however, reassuring to have completed a mission without incident. It gave him the renewed confidence that was needed to return to the captain’s chair and relay their next set of orders from Starfleet. He could not help the pride that swelled in his chest as he stood on the bridge, beside his brother, and knew that the next five years were going to be the most memorable, challenging and invigorating of his life. The challenges that lay ahead filled Dean with an enthusiasm he had not felt since he had first entered into the space program.  
  
His little brother leaned against his station, grinning over at Dean with a happiness that he had not seen in several years. It warmed his heart to see his baby brother’s smile. At this moment, he knew he had made the right decision to take command of the _USS Impala_. Whatever misgivings he felt prior to now, evaporated when he saw the smile that lit up Sam’s face. Dean returned Sam’s smile and swore to himself that these years would be for them – and would not be overshadowed by the legend of John Winchester. They would make the _USS Impala_ renowned in their own right, and could finally stop living in their father’s wake. It was with this promise and the determination in his heart that Captain Dean Winchester strode forward to the captain’s chair, ready to tackle anything the universe could throw at him. He lowered himself into his confident sprawl and winked as he turned to his First Officer, Jean-Luc Picard.  
  
“Ensign Riker, plot a course to Ivor. Crowley, ahead Warp Factor 4. We’ve got space to explore, baby!” Dean grinned. His surrounding crew gave short exclamations of excited agreement, but none were as enthusiastic as Sam, who pumped his arm into the air and let out a loud ‘ _whoop_ ’. It caused everyone to break out in stifled giggles; clearly Sam’s goal from the way he was grinning around the bridge. The after-effect was immediate, however; the bridge felt warmer, more companionable. While they were still wading through the murky waters of unfamiliarity, together they would grow to a team that complimented each other, forming a conglomerate that would navigate the uncertainty of space to the best of their ability.  
  
This knowledge comforted Dean, and he sat back in his chair. He was looking forward to the adventures which lay ahead.

 

 

In the years that followed, the crew aboard the _USS Impala_ proved to be a formidable force to hostile encounters; eliminating threats with cold-hearted efficiency that led to little loss of life, while remaining a bureaucratic wonder when needed to negotiate trade treaties, and investigate new worlds with new species and alternative thriving living conditions.  
  
On paper, they were the perfect Starship, fulfilling its duties with enthusiasm and intellectual application, resulting in few complications and incidents. In practice of course, this was hardly the case. Captain Dean Winchester felt however, that there were some things the brass did not need to know; those incidents remained lost amongst the vastness of space.  The crew was grateful for it, knowing it would be one less thing to justify when they returned to Starfleet for evaluation at the end of their mission.  
  
There were times, though, where Dean had no choice but to report every finicky detail, as was the case with their current mission. It was time consuming and irksome, but Starfleet Intelligence was monitoring their progress constantly and were meticulously reviewing the Assessment Reports that were being sent twice-daily. They were required to comply with Starfleet’s stipulations, due to this particular mission. It was their most important and most challenging yet. They had been assigned to search for a suitable location for a potential Starbase outpost on the border of Alpha and Gamma Quadrants, so that it could provide the neighboring system with supplies and act as an anchor for any future space exploration in that part of the galaxy. It involved the entire crew to gather as much information about the celestial bodies in the area as possible.  
  
They were running as many experiments and analysis as the labs could take, and all hands were constantly out exploring the M Class planets. Their various scientists were constantly running between the labs and the transporter room, beaming down to the planet in order to gather more samples and evaluate their previous results. Each planet had to be assessed in terms of breathable air, their atmospheric constitution, and availability of useful minerals that could be mined. Anyone who had any, however limited, scientific training had been reassigned to assist in the research. Dean himself visited inhabited planets, conducting trade negotiations for any suitable commodities the Starbase may need. Lieutenant Ellen always came with him on these occasions, to provide translation where possible and to ensure that no offense was made against the native culture when subtleties were lost with the use of the translators.  
  
Once all this had been completed for the day, Dean had to compile the reports necessary to forward to Starfleet. This often took him several hours, as he liked to review the discoveries made from all of the departments and numerous landing parties. As Dean intended on maintaining his current position exploring the border of the two Quadrants, he was determined to know everything he possibly could about the area. He had been adamant to his crew that they forward him as accurate information as possible, placing pressure on the senior staff to adhere strictly to Starfleet’s requirements when forwarding these reports. So far, his crew had done just that, and he was extremely proud and grateful, as the efficiency made the entire process a little more bearable. They used their inter-stellar travel time to work through the administrative reports, compiling them as quickly as possible for Dean to include with his periodical report to Starfleet. It was exhausting, and none of the crew had any kind of rest the entire time.  
  
Thankfully, though, they were almost finished. Only two more days’ worth of surveying, investigating, archeological and forensic gathering was left to conduct on this final planet. Then the crew would be free for two weeks of shore leave on Starbase 514. Everyone longed for the vacation and their restlessness had begun to adversely affect their work. There had already been two reported mishaps in the science lab this morning, when two separate assistants had accidentally mixed up their samples. It led to a shutdown of one of the ExobioAnalysis machines, so now the entire department was running behind schedule.

  
Tensions were running high and not just with the science officers. Even on the bridge, Crowley and Gabriel were bickering worse than ever, insulting each other at least once per conversation. The fact that Gabriel had made a slight error in his last calculations wasn’t helping matters either, and Crowley was taking full advantage of it to question his every judgment. Dean had stepped in earlier to maintain bridge protocol, reassigning Gabriel to the engine room to work with Geordi and Bobby. They were to test any potential engine limitations, in calculating the course for their final destination.

  
This had caused Bobby to complain, extensively and raucously, that Gabriel and Geordi were getting under his feet and disrupting his attempts to manage the engine room so that they would be ready to go to warp once they were finished on this planet. Dean had been confused when Bobby had cornered him in the elevator and demanded to know why Crowley couldn’t be sent to him instead. Not only would the helmsman be generally ineffectual in the engineering room at this time, due to a limited knowledge of the intricacies of the _Impala’s_ engines, but Crowley was responsible for monitoring, computing and maintaining their position at the main controls. Dean had also been under the impression that Bobby and Crowley were two of his crew that clashed rather spectacularly. The last thing he needed was another incident like the one on Ivor Prime, when they had started a brawl with several Andorians that had been docked for repairs and restocking of supplies. It was one of the incidents that Dean had tried to play down to Central Command, with limited success.  
  
They were suspended but thankfully escaped an official inquiry. He had reprimanded both Bobby and Crowley heavily for their actions. After a week spent in the brig, slogging through mountains of backlogged crew manifests and diagnostic reports, their usual friction and banter warped into something sinister. Petty arguments erupted between them, seemingly never-ending, with one trying to outwit the other. It escalated until tensions between both of them reached an all time high, and inevitably descended into a dirty fistfight. They were moved to separate holding cells after that, but that hadn’t stopped the relentless shouting. Not even engaging the soundproofing on the cells seemed to have made a difference. Dean had sympathized with the security team, no one had wanted to guard them and eventually Worf conceded to the task, with permission to wear earplugs the entire time. Their release from the brig hadn’t exactly cooled their fire either, and so ever since Dean had been working to keep them apart, and on as many opposing shifts as possible.  
  
Nevertheless, Dean had given Bobby the score and told him in no polite way to ‘suck it up’. Bobby scowled and returned to the engineering room. Of course, he received an earful when Jo had the misfortune of dropping an Interphasic compensator on Gabriel’s head hours later. Gabriel was recovering in the medical bay, and Dean had issued a terse warning to all staff to be mindful when working with their teams, and not to become lax now that they were in their final stages of the mission. Dean ‘expected his crew to operate at the same caliber that had been exhibited throughout the entirety of their mission so far’ and ‘forewarned of severe punishments for anyone who willing caused harm to another crew-member or caused willful detriment to any project’.  
  
Yet, with the number of extended shifts the entire crew had been working for the past two months, these recent accidents and conflicts came as no surprise to Dean. In fact, he was amazed that it had not happened sooner, with the personality clashes within his crew and their history of _occasional_ confrontation. In particular, he was impressed with the steady and ongoing co-operation between Castiel and Sam, who were not exactly the most amenable pair. The pressure on the both of them to provide as much detail to Starfleet as possible had resulted in a collaborative effort that exceeded all expectations. Their teams had combined on other occasions, generally once their findings either concurred (to save time they joined forces) or contradicted earlier discoveries (they worked together to solve these discrepancies), but nothing like this. Dean monitored this efficiency with pride, because without it they would not have been able to remain on schedule. He made sure to note daily appraisals to them when writing his Assessment Reports.  
  
By the final day of their research only a few landing parties beamed down. They were gathering some last minute samples and finalizing any remaining surveying. The rest of the crew concentrated on the administrative work to be completed. The number of completed logs entries flowing into Dean’s inbox had increased tenfold in the last twelve hours. Bobby’s team was occupied with repairs, ensuring they would not have any issues with the warp drive. Despite the accidents and raised tensions, the insanity of the past two months was diminishing, to everyone’s relief. By 2200 hours, everyone would once again be aboard the ship and Dean would be issuing the orders to return to Starbase 514. The Base was at least two weeks away by Warp 5, so the science and medical crew would have time to complete their experiments and log their findings before they were due to arrive. Dean himself would be finishing all the administrative logs and conn reports he had been neglecting this mission.  
  
It was therefore to his great annoyance that he received a new set of instructions from Starfleet at 2150 hours.  
  
“Captain, I’m picking up an incoming message from Starbase 514 via Starfleet,” Ellen called over to him, her eyebrows raised slightly in disbelief.  
  
The Beta shift was almost over, and Dean had to catch himself before he cursed Starfleet and their crap timing in front of the entire bridge. Not that any of them would have disagreed, from the looks that flashed in his direction. Instead he sighed, rather audibly, and nodded to Ellen.  
“Patch it through to me. And send a copy to my personal computer, in case I need to look over it later.” Dean said.  
  
Despite knowing that Starfleet had no sure way of knowing that shift was about to finish, Dean could be easily convinced they had waited until the most inconvenient moment possible to forward their message. The first thing Dean saw was Zachariah Sphetyra’s signature and insignia attached to the message. That’s when he knew that the timing was no coincidence. That bastard had definitely planned this. Dean quickly scanned the message, disabling the computer’s audio so the others could be spared the irritation building inside him. The alarm on his armchair beeped and he broke away from the message.  
  
“2200 hours. That’s the end of Beta shift guys; you are relieved from your posts. Make sure to get some rest. I’ll be seein’ you bright and early tomorrow.” Dean announced.  
  
The others switched their stations over to the officers who had just arrived on the bridge. Lieutenant Data stood at attention off to Dean’s right, ready to take over command for the Gamma shift. Dean nodded to him, but bent back over his console, scanning through the message once again just to make sure he had all the facts. Then he locked the message in his databank and shut down his screen, before standing to hand command over to Data, who was waiting for Dean’s word.  
  
“Lieutenant Data, before I hand over the conn, I would like for you and Commander Picard to follow me. I have something important I need to discuss with you.” Dean told them, nodding toward the exit, ignoring their quizzical looks and those of his crew at the surrounding stations. He led them through to the nearest meeting room. Once they were seated inside, he closed the door behind them.  
  
“Computer, engage door lock and soundproofing.”  
  
Data and Picard exchanged looks of concealed bewilderment. Dean frowned as he turned to face them, standing with his hands clasped in front of him.  
  
“I’m just doing this as a precaution; I don’t want the crew hearing about this just yet, especially since it probably isn’t going to go over very well with everybody.” Dean ran a hand over his face, and sat in a chair opposite the two of them. They continued to look impassively at him as they sat, still not sure what to expect.  
  
“I received a message from Starfleet shortly before you came onto the bridge. It contained this message from Rear Admiral Zachariah Sphetyra.” Dean pressed a button his console. Zachariah’s balding, round head appeared on the mounted view screen.  
  
“Greetings, Captain Winchester. Sorry to do this, but I need you on a mission.” He smirked slightly, betraying his utter indifference. “About one-half parsec from your current location is a planet called Beta VT36009. I think it would be fitting for your crew to take a look at this planet. The Federation wants up-to-date records of this area, and this planet hasn’t been visited in a hundred years, so I think it’s time. And what do you know; you’re right there, on a golden egg hunt! It’s perfect timing.” Zachariah grinned, a malicious note just audible in his cheery demeanor. “I’ll be sending through the orders from Command, with all available data about the planet. There’s a good lad. The Starbase sends its regards.” He waved shortly as the message ended and the screen blacked out.  
  
Dean turned back to his officers. Picard’s mouth was set in a tight line, though Data seemed impervious, as usual.  
  
“I’m going to contact Starfleet Command and see if we can get the mission delayed. I wouldn’t hold my breath, especially if these are coming directly from Starfleet. So I don’t want anyone to hear about this. You’re to sit quiet until next shift.”  
  
“Do you think that’s wise? Keeping it from the crew?” Picard questioned.  
  
“I agree, Captain. If the odds of success with Starfleet are indeed quite low, would it not be better to warn the crew in advance?” Data echoed.  
  
Dean ran his hand along his jaw, frustration darkening his eyes. He grit his teeth, determined not to take his irritation out on the crew.  
  
“You know, I’m not so sure. But I do know that it’s not fair on anyone that we’ve gotten these orders just minutes before our last mission officially ended. So in the interest of maintaining morale, I’m gonna wait until tomorrow. Everyone can hear it from me directly.” Dean stated. He stood, saluting his officers. They rose quickly to return the salute.  
  
“I leave the ship in your capable hands. You have the conn, Data. Don’t make the alterations to our course too obvious, Picard.” Dean smiled at him. “But I’m guessing you already knew that?”  
  
Picard nodded in reply, the corners of him mouth curled slightly in a knowing smile.  
  
“Excellent. In that case, I’ll see you next shift.” He winked, a last attempt at humor before heading for the door. At the command, “computer, unlock door”, the doors slide open and the three of them filed out, Data and Picard heading back to the bridge while Dean strode toward the turbolift.  
  
Dean stepped into the elevator, slumped against the wall and told the computer to take him down to the science labs. He knew that if anyone was crazy enough to be working over-overtime, it would be his brother. Now that he was working with Castiel, he was even more likely to keep going until he literally dropped from exhaustion. It had already happened at least once that he knew about in the past two months. Sam had been on shift for twelve solid hours already, and he hadn’t signed off when Dean had taken Data and Picard aside, so he knew that Sam was going to continue working unless there was an intervention. So if he had to drag Sam’s sorry ass away from the screen, he wasn’t above using his command status to do so.  
  
Sure enough, when the door to the lab slid open, Sam and Castiel were both still there, bent over the Biocomputer, recording their observations on their PADD’s. Dean didn’t even bother trying to sneak up on them – Castiel may look engrossed, but he definitely sensed Dean’s presence. Sam’s freakishly good hearing allowed him to hear the quiet _whoosh_ of the door from across the room, so Dean may as well have announced his arrival with a welcoming parade.  
  
Strolling up, Dean peered down at Sam’s PADD. It flashed rapidly, the analysis of the surrounding machine syncing to the ‘Pad in real time. Dean quirked an eyebrow at some of the results flashing across the screen. There were quite a number of unknown variables and undiscovered elements in the samples they were currently working on. No doubt that was why Sam hadn’t moved away from his station – he wanted to log them all before signing out.  
  
In Dean’s mind, he wanted to tell Sam that it was another problem for another shift. But he knew that Sam would bitch for the next week if he dared disrupt his mojo. So Dean waited for a minute or two until the current analysis came to a blinkering halt to signal the end of the diagnostic, before placing his hand down on the desk.  
  
“Sam, you have to stop.” Dean spoke gently, his breath rustling the fabric of the lab coat of Sam’s broad shoulder.  
  
Sam glanced down at where Dean’s hand covered the next sample, before turning to look at him. He looked exhausted yet completely wired. Not for the first time Dean wondered if Sam was half-android. Dean’s hand remained firm on the desk and he leveled his brother with a look, almost daring him to argue. Sam sighed and lowered his head, conceding. He quickly leaned over and turned off the Biocomputer, stacking his now blank PADDs beside the pile of samples he had already examined. Dean glanced over at where Castiel was concentrating on his PADD, engrossed in his research.  
  
“Cas. That means you too,” Dean called over to him. Castiel looked up at the Captain, eyes questioning. “You’ll be no good to anyone if you collapse from exhaustion.”  
  
Castiel locked eyes with Dean, boring into him in a way that made Dean slightly uncomfortable, and he glanced away. Dean just hoped that Castiel would keep his mouth shut, but that almost seemed too much to ask for. Sure enough, seconds later, Castiel cocked his head and opened his mouth to speak.  
  
“The same can be said for you, Captain.”  
  
Dean cursed inwardly and shot Castiel an irritated look. Sam, sharp as ever, picked up on the insinuation and turned to Dean.  
  
“Dean, what’s Castiel referring to now?”  
  
“I’m the Captain; I’m allowed to ignore what I preach.” Dean raised his eyebrow at this little brother, almost mockingly.  
  
Castiel wasn’t finished however.  
  
“Are you not intending to continue reading through Starfleet’s’ latest orders once you ‘retire’ to your quarters, Captain? Technically, you will continue to be working after we are done here.”  
  
“Yes, thank you, Cas. Just the thing I _didn’t_ need to hear right now.” Dean said tightly. “We talked about this, remember? Shutting up about things I don’t want to share.”  
  
He wasn’t happy, because now, thanks to the annoying, psychic alien, Sam would want to know exactly what Dean was not telling everyone. Sure enough, Sam whipped round to face him, wearing an indignant expression of suppressed anger.  
  
“Dean, what’s he talking about?” Sam snapped.  
  
Dean shrugged in response. “Nothing I can do. That bastard Zachariah made sure to send an assignment at the most inconvenient time possible, I just know it.”  
  
“Dean. Is this true?” Sam leveled him with a look that made Dean’s insides squirm.  
  
“Don’t give me that look, Sam. I have to do this, alright – the crew aren’t going to be happy about it so I have to see if I can get Starfleet command to see reason.”  
  
“It’s not a case of reason, Captain. It is a case of logical diplomacy. I do not quite understand your quarrel with the Rear Admiral, but surely even he would understand that Planet Beta VT36009 is close enough to Starbase 514 for us to complete the mission after shore leave,” Castiel reasoned.  
  
Dean nodded grimly. “It’s obvious to anyone with a brain in their head that delaying it till after shore leave wouldn’t hurt anybody. I doubt they’d even lose time in getting the results they wanted – as it is they’re going to have to wait until this lot’s done before we can process anything from Beta VT36009.” Dean gestured to the surrounded cartridges of specimens.  
  
“Captain, I do not recall mentioning hurting anyone. I do think though that it would be irresponsible to try and rush through too many observatory experiments. That’s how mistakes are made and results are misinterpreted. Like what happened during the last United Federation Election.” Castiel replied, nonplussed.  
  
Dean almost laughed at that, and exchanged an amused look with Sam.“Yes, Cas, exactly. Unfortunately, human brains aren’t exactly ruled by logic, so we’ll just have to hope that _someone_ sees reason.” Dean turned to Sam. “Right, well, as much fun as this party is, I came to escort you home, lovely lady. Move your butt, its time you were outta here.”  
  
Dean smacked his brother on the shoulder and headed back to the door, flashing an easy grin to defuse the tension. Sam grumbled something unintelligible as he shrugged out of his lab coat and switched the machines off with a flick of his wrist.  
  
As Dean headed out through the opening door, he yelled back over his shoulder.  
“That means you too, Cas. You freakin’ workaholics’ need to rest sometime!”  
  
Sam made a sound of disapproval as he got into the turbolift beside Dean, but otherwise said nothing. They zipped up to the Captain’s floor and strode quickly down the hall once the ‘lift opened. Sam followed in silence, choosing to stay several paces behind. Dean was fine with that, sensing Sam was probably trying to avoid an argument in front of the crew. Sure enough, as soon Dean let himself in and they were safely behind closed doors, Sam whirled on Dean.  
  
“What the hell, Dean?!” Sam yelled. “Were you ever actually going to _tell_ me that we had just been given new Orders – new orders that are total bullshit, by the way. Why am I hearing this from Cas? My own brother wasn’t going to tell me Starfleet decided to screw us over royally, yet _again_?”  
  
“Sam, don’t be stupid, you know that’s not –” Dean tried to argue.  
  
“Is it, Dean? Is it really? They have been fucking us around for the past two months. It’s the same shit we’ve been dealing with since the academy. Hell, probably ever since Dad died, knowing those bastards. How long are we going to put up with this? It’s not fair on us and it’s not fair on the crew.”  
  
As Sam ranted, he punctuated each sentence with wild gesturing. When he paused for breath, Dean quickly jumped in.  
  
“I know, Sammy, but shouting about it isn’t going to help right now. It’s why I didn’t want you to know just yet – Zachariah is never going to listen to us if we go on the offensive. There are plenty of good, sound reasons for the mission to be delayed – Castiel even named a few – and I’m positive someone back at Starfleet Headquarters will be willing to override Zachariah. Now, if you want to sit yourself down, I’m going to make that call.”  
  
Dean waved Sam off, who kept his mouth shut in a tight line. Dean pulled up the transmission on his view screen, scanning through it once again to make sure he hadn’t missed any crucial info the first two times. Then he pulled up the latest repair log and kept it to one side. Settling back in his chair, he heard Sam sit in the chair off to the right, just out of the view screen’s range. Dean glanced and nodded grimly at him.  
  
“Computer, get me Starfleet Command.” He waited for transmission to respond. Next second, Deputy Command of Operations Admiral Paris appeared on his screen.  
  
“Ahh, good to see you, Admiral. I trust you are well?” Dean gave him his easy grin. Owen Paris looked completely unimpressed.  
  
“Captain. What can I do for you?” his voice steely.  
  
Dean coughed. “Yes, well. I received a transmission not long ago about a new mission for the _USS Impala_. However, I need to request that Command give us some more time before throwing us into another mission. Rear Admiral Zachariah Sphetyra is asking us to defer to Planet Beta VT36009 on our way back to his Starbase. I fear that the extra workload may be too much for my ship to handle just coming off this last mission. The repairs she needs alone should be enough to ask for a delay. No time would be lost if we were to go to the planet straight after touching base. My crew needs _rest_ , Admiral Paris.”  
  
The Admiral’s face softened. “Send me through the transmission. I’ll talk with the Chief of Operations, but I’m not sure we can do anything about it here, Captain Winchester. Your ship is the only one assigned to that sector of Delta Quadrant. Rear Admiral Sphetyra has ultimate discretion, he is the Commanding Officer of that section of Federation Territory.” At Dean’s frown, he shook his head.  
  
“I know, Dean. But look, I’ll talk with Mission Control and get back to you right away.” A hint of a smile tempered him. “If it’s any consolation, you guys have been doing great out there, the brass are very impressed.”  
  
Dean repressed the urge to grunt irritably. “Thank you, Paris. I do appreciate this.”  
  
The connection was cut as the Admiral nodded in response.  
  
Dean leaned back in his chair, scowling and slouching. Neither brother spoke to the other while waiting for the return transmission. Dean sightlessly watched the stars through his window. Sam just watched Dean, leg twitching.  
  
Only a few minutes had passed before Dean’s screen blinked to life, indicating an incoming Starfleet Command transmission. Admiral Paris appeared, impassive as ever.  
  
“Hello, Captain. I just spoke with Mission Control and it looks like no can do.”  
  
Sam let out an outraged sound, so Dean raised his hand, silencing him. He kept his finger raised, accusatory, as he leaned closer to Paris.  
  
“What, dare I ask, makes my request so damn impossible?” Dean’s voice was cold as ice.  
  
“There was a possibility of a reassignment. Looks like Zachariah doesn’t want you in that sector of Federation space anymore. He’s on record stating you are to continue on to Vega after this mission. And unfortunately, that means VT36009 will not be anywhere close to your next destination, hence the assignment being given now, while you’re still conveniently located.” His eyes looked pitying. Dean could almost feel his blood boil.  
  
“Right, thank you, Paris. I appreciate the help.” Dean said tightly. He saluted stiffly and barely waited for the returning salute before cutting the transmission.  
  
Both brothers immediately exploded.  
  
“Fuck that shit! It’s a fucking injustice that Zachariah gets to reassign us! That's _bullshit_ and they all know it!” Sam shouted, leaping out of the chair.  
  
“Injustice, fuck injustice. Convenient that he managed to pull this shit on us, that’s what. He must be loving this little power trip, that ever loving bastard!” Dean yelled, slamming his fist on the desk. He threw himself out of the chair and began pacing, but couldn’t think through the fog of rage.  
  
“You must know someone else back at Headquarters that can vouch for us,” Sam said, evidently looking for ways to fight back.  
  
“No, there isn’t anyone, Sam, at least not on such short notice.” Dean stopped pacing, shoulders tense, fists clenched.  
  
“Dean, you know this is bullshit! He can’t get away with this! It’s not right – we have been working our _asses_ off! Who is he to just come in here and power trip us out of here? How is Mission Control alright with that? We aren’t at the academy where we can be pulled out of class to assist the Federation just because they can! This is the real deal – these people’s lives are at stake! What happens if the crew screws up because they’re overworked and exhausted? It’s not a simulation where everyone can just say ‘oh, do better next time’. There is no ‘next time’! People have _died_ from shit like this, Dean!” Sam tirade came to a halt as he caught his breath, gulping great lungfuls of air, his massive shoulders heaving.  
  
Dean was barely listening, too busy being annoyed at everyone about the _Impala’s_ reassignment. If they hadn’t called Paris then they probably wouldn’t have heard about it until they arrived for shore leave, or possibly not until afterwards and they were readying to receive their next mission. That would have left them in the lurch, considering nobody was expecting to venture into that area of the Federation. Dean was certain the engines would need some kind of special re-adjustment, if he recalled his outlying Alpha spaceography correctly. And the shit-storm from the crew would be enough to put the ship out of action for a day at least.  
  
Dean rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly very weary. All he wanted was to sleep and deal with this in the morning. Sam was still ranting wildly though, and Dean knew better than to interrupt him mid-rant. So he moved over to his closet, pulling off his Command uniform as he went. When he pulled the black undershirt off as well, Sam stopped talking abruptly. Dean looked over at him, confused as to why Sam would stop. He was wearing an indignant expression.  
  
“So what, you’re just done now. Take a shower, go to bed and hope it’ll all be better in the morning?” Sam spat. “You should be trying to fix this! You’re our Captain, what good is it if you don’t fight back?”  
  
“No, Sam, there’s nothing, alright? Just shut up and go to bed.” Sam opened his mouth to retaliate, but Dean raised a hand to silence him. “If you question me again, I’ll make it an order.” Dean said, voice steely.  
  
“Fine.” Sam’s eyes smoldered with anger and his muscles rippled with tension. Dean cursed inwardly, regretting his words in the face of Sam’s anger and hurt.  
  
“Sam, no –” Dean tried, almost reaching out to him. Sam raised both his arms in a huff, cutting him off.  
  
“No, Dean, I get it. You’re just going to switch over to Robo Dean, like you always do and take it. Whatever, man.”  
  
Dean made an exasperated sound, trying to reason with Sam as he headed for the door. “Look, Sam, I’m sorry, but there isn’t anything I can do right now, alright. So it’s best if the both of us get some sleep, save that energy so we can fight this battle another day.”  
  
“Yeah, Dean. See, the only problem with that is that ‘another day’ never comes.” Sam snapped before walking out.  
  
Dean sighed, slumping against the cupboard. That didn’t go quite as he’d hoped. Nothing about the last hour really had. But there wasn’t anything he could do about it now. So instead, he showered while cursing the universe and its grudge against him and his family, pulled on his nightclothes and climbed into bed. He fell into a deep sleep, and dreamed of winged, bright-blue-eyed men in trench coats chasing him and trying to smack his face with a winged hand.  
  
After Dean woke the next morning, he had a moment of incredulity while showering. Strange dreams usually signaled one of two things: too much stress or not enough sex. At the moment, he actually suspected the former (for once). Mainly because that when under-sexed, Dean just had a long string of bondage, submissive, bloody rough sex dreams that stopped once Dean got laid. Sadly, resolving the stress would have to wait a few more days, because now he had to make an announcement that was likely to piss off every single one of his crew members. This was Dean’s least favorite part about being Captain – having the responsibility of bearing bad news.  
  
Sighing, Dean dressed quickly, double-checking his hair in the mirror beside the door. On the way to the bridge, Dean noticed the number of people hurrying about the ship with an almost tangible excitement. Guilt licked his insides, even more so when he saw Bobby and Crowley heading for engineering, bickering as usual. He walked by in time to hear Bobby growl exasperatedly, “I can’t wait for this bloody shore leave!”  
  
He steeled himself and walked onto the bridge, ten minutes before Alpha shift was scheduled to start. He stopped beside Picard, gave him a silent nod and Dean took a deep breath and internally swore, ‘ _you will pay for this, you bastard, Zachariah_ ’. He then reached out to hit the ship-wide communication switch.  
  
“This is the Captain here. Crew, please give me your full attention, I have a very important announcement to make.” Dean paused. Everyone on the bridge turned to look at him, curious, save for Picard and Data. “Several hours ago, I received a transmission from Starfleet. They have new orders for us. Our instructions are to investigate life forms on nearby Planet Beta VT36009 as we make our way back to Starbase 514. Please be certain that this will in no way affect the length of your shore leave. The planet body is only twelve hours off our original course and the mission itself is relatively simple. It should delay us no more than three days. If you have made any plans, I apologize. You can take the time now to make any necessary arrangements to alter those plans for shore leave.” Dean halted, aware that everyone was probably whispering furiously to each other throughout the ship. Even those on the bridge were unable to help themselves; exchanges of ‘ _what_?!’ hissed around him.  
  
“Many of you will have questions about what will be required of you for this mission. Please be assured that shifts will return to normal after today, as was previously planned. I have already decided on those who will accompany me on the Planetside mission. If they feel we need extra help, they will approach those they feel will best help. If this does happen to be you, work as efficiently as you usually would. The sooner we finish this mission, the faster we can get back on track for Starbase 514.  
  
“If you have any additional worries or concerns, please approach your supervisor later today, preferably after the Alpha shift. I will be holding a debriefing at 1100 hours that will hopefully serve to answer any and all questions.” Dean stopped again, trying to think if there was anything to add. He could think of nothing, so he just decided to shut up and get on with it. “Chief Commanding Officers will report to me in Observation Lounge at 1100 hours. Crew, thank you for your time. Please continue about your business.”  
  
Dean cut the transmission and turned to Ellen. He ignored the disapproving frown and commanded, “Send a reminder to the Chief Commanding Officers on the ship about the meeting. You’d better attach a copy of Sphetyra’s transmission, with a note to say to review it before the meeting. I’m sure the crew will bombard them with questions, so they can bring those questions or issues to the meeting if they want.” Dean walked over to her and continued in a lower voice, “I’m sure you’re going to get a lot of the same shit coming through, so if you want to make some kind of generic response for questions after the meeting today, feel free.”  
  
Ellen glared at him and nodded stiffly, and Dean almost wanted to shout in exasperation. Why did everyone hate him? It wasn’t _his_ fault that Starfleet Command could be a bunch of bastards at the worst of times.  
  
He glanced over at Sam, who looked equally pissy and knew he wouldn’t get any sympathy there. Nevertheless, he went over and asked, “Do you want Doctor Crusher to attend as well, since you’re already informed about the mission. I know that you’ll be busy finishing up the experiments from our current mission. Don’t give me that look – I know better than anyone just how much work you and your team have been doing.” Dean shifted uncomfortably at the deliberately neutral look that Sam leveled at him.  
  
Sam gave an almost-shrug, stating, “We’re practically used to it by now. But I won’t be putting them on extended shifts unless it’s absolutely necessary. Starfleet can go jump for all I care. My team are already a Klingon’s breath away from a collective stress-breakdown.”  
  
Dean held up his hand to stem the oncoming rant; this was hardly the time, or the place.  
“I know, Sam, I know. I hear you, and I completely agree. If you think it would benefit the team to give a rest day, I’d be more than willing to sign off on that.”  
  
He reached out and squeezed Sam’s shoulder. Sam closed his eyes, brows furrowed, and nodded briefly. Dean felt a pang of empathy. Sam looked so tired, borderline defeated. Dean squeezed his shoulder again, letting it rest there even as he moved away.  
  
He approached Crowley and Gabriel at the helm with a tinge of apprehension at what was bound to be a bitchfest of unmatched proportions.  
  
“Gabriel, plot a course for Planet Beta VT. Crowley, for now, go to Warp 5.” He looked severely at the pair of them, both about to open their mouths, their expressions murderous. “Don’t even start. The pair of you can whine in private, but I will not tolerate unrest when you are on this bridge. No one is happy about this, I know, alright.” Dean snapped, moving around them to get back into his own Captain’s chair, but was interrupted.  
  
Bobby strode onto the bridge, thunderous. As soon as Dean saw him, he diverted straight for him, gripping his arm and dragging him back out into the trbolift, before he had even opened his mouth. Bobby barely seemed to notice.  
  
“What the hell is this I hear about you divertin’ us to some unpopulated backwards ass planet? I’m up to my balls in necessary repairs, Dean! The past two months have been rough on the Impala – you can’t keep runnin’ her at full speed and not expect somethin’ to break.” Bobby stormed.  
  
Dean winced at the thought. Not that he was surprised by what Bobby was saying; he saw the repair log daily and usually had Bobby ranting to him about it soon after. It didn’t help the sinking, sick feeling settling in his stomach when he thought about how Starfleet was causing him to abuse his beloved ship. He rubbed at his face, trying to clear his thoughts.  
  
“I know, Bobby, I know. It’s only for three days though. Please tell me you can work that Bobby Magic and keep her ship shape for three days at least.” Dean cocked him a challenging eyebrow. Bobby nearly rolled his eyes in response.  
  
“I can do that, Captain, not a problem. Just don’t go sayin’ I didn’t warn you when something goes wrong!” Dean smiled and clapped Bobby on the back, as he made to leave the tubolift.  
  
“Thanks, Bobby. I’ll buy you all the Klingon Ale you can drink after all this to make it up to you.”  
  
Bobby snorted, “Sure, Dean,” as the turbolift closed to head back to engineering.  
  
Dean let out a loud _whoosh_ of air, thankful to have dodged that potentially deadly laser. No doubt Bobby will have far worse things to say if shit did hit the fan, but Dean couldn’t worry about that right now.  
  
He walked back onto the bridge and settled into the Captain’s chair, pulling up his PADD. Using his password, he logged into the Central Starfleet Planetary Database and extracted the archived files for Planet Beta VT36009. He downloaded them to the PADD, his personal laptop and the main computer for the debriefing. He skimmed the information quickly, intending on going over it in more detail at a later time.  
  
At 1100 hours, Dean stood and picked up his PADD. Almost everyone else on the bridge stood with him and made for the door. “Picard, you have the Conn. Come get me if there’s an emergency.”  
  
Then Dean and his fellow bridge Commanding Officers filed into the Observation room, with several other Commanders already seated around the rectangular table. Castiel and Sam were already there, along with Doctor Crusher and Sam’s top scientist, Ruby. Both Security Co-Commanders, Harry Spangler and Ed Zeddmore, were beside them, heads bent together as they spoke in low whispers. Data was seated at the end farthest from the door, so Dean moved to take the one closest to him. His fellow bridge officers moved to an available seat, taking up those at the opposite end of the table first. Dean tried not to take offense, but couldn’t help the purse of his lips.  
  
Bobby came strolling in last, just as everyone had settled into their seat. Bobby took the last open seat between Sam and Crowley, barely hiding a scowl as Crowley snarked, “Now that the cavalry has arrived, let’s get this show on the road.”  
  
Dean shot Crowley a warning look, to hide his inner wince at not thinking to intervene and help keep those two apart. ‘ _Not much can do about that now._ ’ Dean reasoned, focusing his attention to the room at large.  
  
“As you heard, Rear Admiral Zachariah Sphetyra sent through a transmission last night detailing our new mission. After shift, I did contact the Deputy of Operations to try and delay the mission until after our shore leave, for when we leave Starbase 514 and then return to this sector of the Alpha Quadrant. Basically, his response was to suck it up.” Dean paused for the stifled bickering and snorting around the table. “Yes, my thoughts exactly. His other point though, is that it is likely we will be reassigned a new sector after this mission, probably closer to Vega.”  
  
Choruses of ‘what?’ issued from both Crowley and Bobby, who both looked thoroughly indignant at this change of plans. Dean ignored them. “So we may not actually be in the same proximity to the Planet as we are now. Since we are the only Starship this far out, we basically get stuck with the wrong end of the phaser.”  
  
Bobby was the first to speak out. “You know that’s a crop of shit, right Captain? We could warp back out to Planet Beta VT and be back in the same amount of time as it is to sidetrack now. Idgit, really doesn’t know nothin’ about space travel, s–”  
  
“Thank you, Bobby. I think you’ve made your point.” Dean cut across, stemming the potential tirade of profanity. “I do understand what you’re saying, and I did relay that to Starfleet’s Mission Control. Unfortunately they have defaulted to work alongside the Rear Admiral’s decision. So that brilliance fell on deaf ears. Starfleet Command ultimately has to rely on the Starbase’s head officer wisdom, since they expect the commanding officer to be unbiased and working for the best interests of everyone. So Zachariah can pretty much do whatever the hell he wants.”  
  
A chorus of murmurs and cursing of Zachariah broke out around the room, which Dean had to remind himself he wasn’t allowed to join. Instead, he turned to Sam.  
  
“Now, as you all know, everyone has been working extremely hard. We’ll revert to normal shifts as planned, but Sam and Castiel are not going to be able to keep pace with all of the extra evaluations and experiments that will be required with the new mission. Bobby, I’m going to have to ask someone from Engineering to make sure all of the scientific equipment is working at full capacity so the computers can do as much work as possible. Ellen, could you reassign Ensign Riker to organize all the information from both our current mission and the Beta VT mission? If you could oversee its transmission to Starfleet Intelligence that would really help.  
  
“Crowley, Bobby, I need you both to work together to find the fastest possible way to get to Beta VT and then onto Starbase 514, to minimize the delay time as much as possible. If we keep the ship on track, we should be able to arrive at Starbase 514 less than a week late. I know there’s repairs that need to be made to the engine’s and the ship’s warp nacelle, along with numerous minor repairs throughout the ship. Do your best with what you have, Bobby, but everything else will just have to wait until we dock at the Starbase.  
  
“Crowley, I already had Gamma shift alter course slightly, I’m sure you realized, but I want you to engage the highest possible Warp Factor. Keep in touch with Bobby to make sure the engine room can handle it, and the Dilithium Crystals can keep up. And for God’s sake, please try to keep civil. The last thing we need right now is fighting between Commanding Officers. Everyone is already pissed about delaying shore leave; don’t let them see another lashing out. If I have to, I _will_ demote you. Fair warning.” Dean’s voice was stern.  
  
“Message received, loud and clear,” Crowley mock saluted.  
  
“Sure thing, Cap’n,” Bobby mumbled, shooting a look at Crowley from the corner of his eye.  
  
Dean nodded, satisfied. “Alright, did everyone get to read through the transmission from Zachariah? Were there any questions?” Dean asked.  
  
Ellen piped up. “I just wanted to clarify with our shift times – we’re going back to eight hour shifts, but when the science and medical departments need extra staff, some of the crew are going to have to be working overtime.” Sam shifted uncomfortably, wanting to make some defense, but was cut off by Castiel.  
  
“The aim is for most of the work to be completed by the computer and the reassigned officers should make up the hours we need. So no one should be working overtime unless there is a malfunction in the dispensary – or they chose to.”  
  
“How long until we arrive?” Everyone looked at Crowley.  
  
“Two days or thereabouts, provided there are no mishaps in Engineering, of course,” he answered, with a sly look at Bobby. Bobby’s fists clenched and he glared in response to Crowley’s smirk.  
  
“Now that we have that out of the way,” Dean interjected loudly, “everyone can get back to work. I will assign officers to the away mission closer to arrival, when I can be sure they will be up to it,” he glanced pointedly at Sam.  
  
Sam frowned in response as everyone gathered themselves to leave. “Captain, I would like to take Doctor Crusher and Riker, if they are up for it, on the away mission. They are capable and have done very well so far, especially during the last mission.” Sam requested.  
  
Dean nodded. “I’ll take it under consideration. I thought they had been doing more than their fair share of overtime though. Babyface is one ambitious kid, but he can’t keep running forever.”  
  
“I agree, but Riker should still be involved. The two of them are rising stars, and this would be a good experience for them.” Sam insisted.  
  
“To experience what? A pointless mission with a pointless outcome that’s wasting everyone’s time just so that Zachariah douchewad can have his power trip?” Bobby fumed from the doorway.  
  
“Yes, Bobby. Because they are young, fresh from the academy, and eager to please. They might not see it as a total right off, and actually see something we might miss.” Sam turned back to Dean.  
  
Bobby huffed and walked out without saying anything further. Dean raised an eyebrow but did not comment on his brother’s terseness.  
  
Sam ignored him and looked over at Ruby, who was still standing beside Ellen, waiting.  
  
“I will stay in the lab and monitor the current experiments, as well as oversee the remainder of the incoming samples,” Ruby said, looking over at Ellen, who nodded back. “I would also like to request that Jo assist us. She’s the best we have at the moment and it will be good for her to be more involved.”  
  
Dean also looked at Ellen while Ruby spoke, rubbing his mouth in thought. “You don’t think she’s too young and inexperienced? She is only a civilian on this ship, not even an official Acting Ensign. I get that she’s your daughter, and has grown up on Starships, but do you think she’s up for it?”  
  
Ellen nodded. “I have full confidence in her, Captain. She helped me a lot with the last mission. She learns quickly and I would bet she’s anxious to help. She can see how tired everybody is from overworking.”  
  
“Fine. Have Jo report for Duty in the science lab. Otherwise, I want a skeleton crew in there and sickbay.” Dean looked back at Sam. “Each science officer is to take one shift, and one shift only, per day between now and our arrival at Beta VT. You and your team need rest, and that’s an order.” Dean commanded, as Sam opened his mouth to protest.  
  
Sam set his mouth in a hard line and nodded.  
  
“Glad we understand each other. Dismissed.”  
  
Sam, Ruby and Ellen walked out. Dean stayed for a moment before running his hand over his face and sighing. Deciding he couldn’t continue to sit there, Dean stood and began to head back to the Bridge. He was frustrated, but knew it was better to channel it into his work rather than complain about it.  
  
He was jostled out of his thoughts by Harry and Ed nearly running into him at the turbolift.  
  
“Captain, sir.” They spoke in unison, with synchronized salutes. “The Ghostfacers are at your service for the upcoming away mission,” said Ed. Dean tried not to smile at the nickname the security team had coined for themselves.  
  
“We are ready to go at any time, you just say the word,” Harry continued. “Would you require our whole team or just a select few exemplary members?” he asked.  
  
“Guys, I don’t want to overwork you,” Dean began.  
  
“No sir, we are all properly rested and eager for another mission,” Ed interjected, brushing off Dean’s concern with a wave of his hand. Harry nodded in agreement.  
  
“We understand the security risks are low, but we can always help in other ways. We will serve as many purposes as you need, Captain.”  
  
Dean held up a hand to stop them. “Yes, alright, fine. I should only need a small security detail, three at most. Pick the team amongst yourselves and have them report to Transporter Room 1 when we are ready to beam down.” Dean stepped into the turbolift, silencing their synchronized confirmations.  
  
‘ _A strange pair’_ , Dean thought, but knew they got the job done, which was all that mattered right now. He walked out of the turbolift and onto the bridge as someone announced ‘Captain on the Bridge’. Dean sat in his chair, preparing to continue through the mountain of paperwork.


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose to make Ed and Harry a little OCC, but tried to keep their character's true in a way that would fit in the Star Trek universe.

 

 

The next two days were relatively uneventful. Shift changed, repairs continued around the clock, preparations for the next mission were made in Engineering and the science labs. At one point Bobby came up to the Bridge to tell Dean he wanted to volunteer to join the away mission.  
  
“If we’re going to make it to Starbase 514 and beyond, I’m gonna need more materials,” Bobby said gruffly, standing by the Engineering station. Red sections lit up the screen in a way that signaled the amount of repairs that still remained, and Dean nodded his understanding. “If we’re lucky, Captain, there will be minable minerals on that lump of rock. If we find something that can be converted to titanium, it’ll keep the warp core and anti-matter chambers stable to Warp 7 rather than limping along at Warp 4 as we are now.”  
  
Bobby punched a few buttons and the computer showed a different map of the _Impala_ , this time with yellow sections. “This is the work we have done to keep her ship shape. I’ve got Geordi doing maintenance on the upper decks while Mills is doing a major overhaul in the transporter room. Half the circuits are fried from the last mission, and that’s one piece of machinery I’d rather keep running.”  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, not in disagreement. “Awesome work, Bobby. Stay with the warp core for now, I want my big guns in case I need them. I’ll get you to bring Geordi with you on the away mission. He’s a bright kid and could do with a little away mission experience.” Dean told Bobby, who nodded and left without another word. Dean sighed.  
  
For Dean’s next shift, he made sure to be on the bridge well before shift change to ensure a smooth transition into the Alpha shift staff. He spent the morning sifting through paperwork until halfway through the shift, four hours later, when they arrived at Beta VT.  
  
“Captain, coming up on Beta VT36009.” Crowley stated.  
  
“Excellent, pull her into orbit, Crowley. Computer, give me a visual,” Dean ordered, saving and closing all the files on his PADD.  
  
The screen filled with the orange covered planet, the background filled with the black of space. Something strange was happening to the planet though; it seemed to be going in and out of focus, with various colors flashing across the screen very few seconds. Dean looked at it, puzzled.  
  
“Crowley, why are we getting such bad visuals of the planet?” Dean asked.  
  
“Couldn’t say, Captain. The readings for this are all over the place. It might be an energy blip we flew through earlier.” Crowley answered. “It’s some kind of strange signal surrounding the planet, but the computers aren’t picking it up, so it could be some kind of new or undocumented type of energy or wavelength particle.”  
  
“Alright Crowley, stay on alert and let me know if anything changes. Keep the shields up whenever we’re not transporting, just to be safe.” Dean told him, clapping a hand to his shoulder and turning back to his command console.  
  
He turned on shipwide communication and announced, “We are entering orbit around Planet Beta VT36009. Those commanding officers beaming down to the planet’s surface are to report to the transporter room.” Dean cut the transmission and turned to Crowley. “You have the conn, Crowley. Keep me informed.”  
  
“If something goes arse about tit, you’ll know about it, Captain,” Crowley deadpanned. Dean rolled his eyes as he moved round toward the door. As he passed Ellen she raised her hand, signaling for him to halt.  
  
“Captain, I’m picking up something strange on the subspace communication channel. Its sounds like a message – in Breen, I think – but I can’t make it out. I checked the other channels and couldn’t get anything clearer. I even switched over to traditional radio wavelengths to see if it was a distress call coming from a rogue ship, but nothing. Just the same scrambled, faint message. Although it sounds nothing like any Breen I’ve ever heard before.” Ellen looked puzzled at her console, as if it were purposefully misleading her. Dean considered this for a moment.  
  
“Alright, hopefully it’s nothing, but keep trying to get a clearer signal and if you discover anything, let me know.” Dean told her, before moving out to the Turbolift. He commanded ‘Transporter room’ and waited for the ship to take him there.  
  
Upon arrival, Dean strode into the room and found the Ghostfacers already there. They were doing last minute checks to make sure everyone had their phasers and communicators. The sight made Dean feel something between amusement and dismay at their need to actually check the basics. But Dean had found that these basic checks had actually saved them on numerous occasions, so he felt he shouldn’t judge too harshly. It was common feeling he had whenever he worked Planetside with his security team, which was fairly often. A hundred missions in and he still couldn’t figure out if that was a good thing or not. As he paused to contemplate this, they spotted him and jumped immediately in line, saluting the Captain as one, speaking in union, “Reporting for duty, Captain!”  
  
Dean raised a hand in half-hearted acknowledgement, saying, “At ease, ‘Facers. You don’t have to salute, I’ve told you before.”  
  
“Yes , sir. ‘Several hundred times’ you said, sir!” Ed said, speaking with the authority of someone who knows exactly how this routine works.  
  
Harry, his co-leader and partner, also spoke up. “That may be the case, Captain, but the Ghostfacers are one for routine. This much is obvious, but we would gladly demonstrate for you a number we devised for building team spirit and unity –”  
  
Dean cut them off before they could effectively start their dance routine and reliability spiel. “Yes, I’m aware – guys, I know, you don’t have to do that. We’re supposed to be preparing for this mission, so can you please get on with that!” Those were the magic words that seemed to bring the team back to reality and out of the middle of their Ghostfacers posturing.  
  
“Yes, Captain, right away!”  
  
They broke away, moving to pick out their own scientific equipment and collection tools that would be used by each member of the landing party. Everyone was to help gather the information samples needed to complete the mission as quickly as possible. Dean watched them do this, particularly Ed and Harry. The pair had always been an enigma to Dean. They came to him with the Ship, assigned with a special recommendation by his mentor and teacher Jim Pastor. They had married before they had graduated from the academy, so that they would not be separated once they entered the fleet. Due to the Starfleet regulation, married couples had to be allowed to work on the same Starship. It was a desperate act by two best friends in order to stay together, and not separated by the vastness of space. They had even adopted another close friend, Maggie, as their daughter, to be a proper family. They always professed that their feelings were completely platonic; they had an open marriage so they could explore their sexuality whenever their job allowed. They shared quarters and were extremely affectionate toward one another, but continued life as they it in the academy.  
  
But lately, things seemed different between them. Dean didn’t know how he knew, but it didn’t seem like their platonic friendship was quite so platonic anymore. Whenever he worked with them, they were seamless, so in sync you thought their brains had fused into one being. Now they seemed slower, less certain and more awkward. If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say that their friendship was possibly reaching a breaking point, but that wasn’t it. Dean had seen them with women before and they were awkward and stilted, just like they were acting now.  
  
Before Dean could really think too much more about it, Bobby, Geordi, Castiel, Sam, Data and Dr. Crusher walked into the Transporter room. The three scientists had their tricorders strapped to their belt, a Detronal scanner in hand and holding a Medkit that contained a variety of test tubes, petri dishes and sample kits. Castiel also had a secondary, more complex tricorder, with several other extremely delicate machines that would be able to measure the evolutionary capabilities of the planet, as well as its current microscopic and bacteria environment. He also had a variety of hypospays, a medical scanner, dermal regenerator and a palm-sized reader tube in his medkit, in case the planet was not particularly favorable to their health.  
  
As soon as they were all gathered, Castiel began handing out portable oxygen masks to the entire landing party. “Here, put these on before you beam down. Class K Planets are generally safe for physical visits, but the atmosphere is toxic to most humanoids. Because we know so little about this particular planet, I don’t want to take a gamble on breathable air. Keep the mask on at all times. It’s an oxygen filter, so you will breathe in just those substances that your lungs are born to inhale, and will supply you with a supply of clean air for you to breathe.  Under no circumstances are they to come off. You may die, by suffocating or suffer toxic atmospheric poisoning, or be contaminated by micro-organisms, which could give you any number of unpleasant health problems we have never even heard of and definitely have no cure.” Castiel explained to the crew.  
  
“Geeze, Cas. Way to be optimistic,” Dean chided sarcastically.  
  
“Captain, there are incalculable risks associated with this landing mission, even more so now that it seems to be giving off this unknown energy. That could lead to any number of complications or potential death –”  
  
“Yes, thank you, Cas,” Dean cut across. He turned to the group. “Yes, as Castiel said, there seems to be some sort of energy surrounding this planet, which may or may not be affecting the Communicators. Therefore I want you to stick together and periodically contact the ship and if you get into trouble, let me or someone else know. This is a fairly standard mission, so it shouldn’t be too complicated. Let’s get down there and get this done, so we can go on vacation!”  
  
Dean clapped his hands together, smiling, as the Ghostfacers let out a collective cheer. They moved onto the transporter landing, crowding together in the confided space. Bobby handled the controls, adjusting them so they would beam aboard the surface a few seconds after he instigated the process. After he initiated the transporter beam, he hurried over to join them on the platform, and seconds later they were materializing on the planet’s surface, much slower than they usually would have. When they finally did completely materialize, it was with a collective relieved sigh, followed by a collective cough. They were all feeling worse for wear.  
  
“That was a pretty rough ride, Bobby. Care to explain?” Dean asked.  
  
“Yeah, you’re tellin’ me. I expect it has something to do with the weird energy field surrounding the planet – its playing havoc with the transporting beam and reading instruments.” Bobby managed to gasp. “I’d recommend no one over use it. Sorry guys if you were actually hoping to make multiple trips.” Bobby said to the science team, who were all clutching their stomachs and looking like they wanted to vomit. They all shook their heads, waving off Bobby’s warning.  
  
“No, I’m pretty sure we understand that, unless we all want to throw up every time,” Riker managed. Bobby grunted and pressed his communicator.  
  
“Jodie, come in Jodie. Singer here. I need you to go up to the Transporter room and check through the archived data from our beam down to the planet and tell me what went wrong, or anything strange recorded by the computer. Then I want you to check and make sure there aren’t any defects with the machine. If we need to get people out of here in a hurry, I want to make sure it’s gonna work.” There was a pause, some crackling static that puzzled Bobby – there was rarely ever this kind of interference when communicating with a ship in orbit.  
  
“Right on it, Commander. I’ll check in with you later.” Came the reply, somewhat muffled and distorted. Bobby continued to look concerned, even after he had closed the communication.  
  
Dean meanwhile, was attempting to stand straighter and forced himself to recover quickly by gulping in great lungfuls of clean, filtered air.  
  
“Right, team. When you’re ready to go again, you know what to do. Gather the samples, check out the landscape, and make your observations so we can get out of here. We want to be gone ASAP, so make it snappy,” Dean ordered.  
  
It was the first time they were able to actually take in the planet’s surface surrounding them. The immediate landscape was relatively flat, with patches of orange vegetation scattered all around them. Behind them, leading out to an open desert, this vegetation became more sparsely distributed until there was nothing but pink sand and dirt. The dirt they now stood on however was a darker, grainer type of pink dirt, which continued to darken to an almost blood red in the spread of land ahead of them. Also, in the distance, they could see some kind of clump of trees or shrubbery growing steadily higher and increasingly more vibrant orange as the soil darkened. The trees seemed to surround a small hill, which was covered in yellow, red, pink and orange patches, presumably representative the different kinds of vegetation and flora of the surrounding area.  
  
The last sight puzzled Dean somewhat, because he remembered that the notes on the planet had stated that it was relatively flat, save for some valleys and craters that had obviously formed during the planet’s formation and had been bombarded with meteorites. There was nothing in those files about orange vegetation, or anything about an actual weather system. It looked like some sort of storm was brewing behind them; a cross between a tornado and heat lightening storm. There was no wind to speak of though, not even a slight breeze. The storm wasn’t moving, which seemed odd, but not entirely unique, so Dean put it out of his mind; it was the least strange thing about this place.  
  
“I estimate that the hill in the distance is just over two kilometers walk. I propose we head toward it while taking our various samples, as that would be the most productive and seemingly easiest way to accomplish our collective goals. It seems that the vegetation is concentrated there for an unknown reason, which we should investigate.” Data stated.  
  
“Yeah, I agree with Data,” said Sam. “And hopefully the closer we get, the more we’ll be able to figure out about what’s fertilizing these plants, since Starfleet doesn’t have any data on this.”  
  
They nodded and separated into their individualized teams; a Ghostfacer went with each of the three groups; Sam, Geordi and Data went together, Crusher, Riker and Castiel walked off together, and Dean and Bobby stayed close to each other. Dean had his tricorder out, using it to scan the different vegetation; although he was confused slightly when it registered that some of the orange plants were the same as some of the yellow-colored plants, but only if their fern-like leaves hung the same way. None of the star-shaped plants seemed to be related however, even though they seemed to come in yellow, red and orange. Bobby kept taking several soil samples every few meters, a puzzled look on his face.  
  
When asked, he explained that, depending on the proximity to the plants and the color or texture of the soil, the constitution was completely different. The entire ground seemed to be made up of a complete mix of elements he wouldn’t have thought would work together, let alone produce life, but clearly they did. Somehow, the further they moved toward the vegetation mountain, the more fertile the soil seemed to become. One particular molecule Bobby had never seen before wasn’t in any database. Its composition grew in _everything_ the further they continued.  
  
 “I’d hypothesize it’s also the element present in this atmosphere. It may be where the strange readings are coming from, since it’s an as yet unknown substance.” Bobby ventured.  
  
Dean nodded in agreement, though he figured his scientific team would be less willing to consider Bobby’s words without hard evidence. Right now though, Castiel was taking air and atmospheric samples, so no doubt he would be able to confirm or disprove Bobby’s assumption soon enough. Sam and Data were holding their tricorders to the vegetation to take their own readings and samples. The Ghostfacers trailed each scientific team, collecting samples and working as they were instructed.  
  
When they were within a kilometer of the mountain, something very strange happened to the ground. It began to shake. At first, it was very subtle and they could barely feel it, but as they continued, it became more pronounced, so much so that they became aware of the constant vibration beneath their feet. It was not dislodging their stance in any way, nor did it make observing or collecting samples difficult. Their readings may have been affected, but no more so than they had been earlier. They could just feel the earth beneath them continuously vibrating. The flora did not seem to be affected though, as they remained utterly still.  
  
The ground remained completely flat, the soil showed no sign of movement, as though the vibrations were coming out of the ground and shooting straight up their legs. They were also becoming aware of a rustling sound, but there was no wind, so it was not the sound of the leaves blowing in the wind. Several times, Dean could have sworn he saw a brown figure flashing past in his peripheral vision, but he never seemed to catch it before it disappeared. He decided to just take note of it and ignored it, along with the growing vibrating sensation, as best he could.  
  
“This planet is very strange. Everything about it is odd. Normal convention of a Class K Planet would say that it would be impossible for vegetation like this to evolve in such a short period of time without outside help. As it stands, I don’t think the plants are exactly plants either, because they do not seem to be absorbing the same nutrients as the ground, which is very peculiar. I wonder if it has something to do with their digestive system. We will have to wait until we can do further experiments in the lab. But Captain, I think this is really quite a unique planet we have here,” Castiel said.  
  
About an hour later, when they were within five hundred meters of the densest part of the foliage at the base of the mountain, the landing party encountered their next big surprise of this mission. All of them were busy taking notes, observing or scanning when suddenly, seemingly from nowhere, _people_ jumped out from behind blocks of yellow and red ‘trees’, shouting and waving their arms, with what looked like weapons aimed straight at the group. Everyone jumped and most people let out some exclamation of surprise. The Ghostfacers each reached for and drew their phasers with uncanny unison. Everyone raised their hands and shouted various, “Whoa!” “Hold on!” “What the -?”

 

 

Dean stepped forward toward the largest native, the one wearing an ornamental necklace, presuming he was the leader. He briefly turned to his crew and hissed, “Be quiet and for god’s sake _don’t_ do anything stupid.”  
  
He turned back to the leader and pointed at himself.  
  
“I am Dean Winchester, Captain of the _USS Impala_. We mean you no harm. We are on a scientific mission to gather knowledge about your planet. We’re not here to hurt you, so if you could kindly lower your weapons, it’d be greatly appreciated.” Dean indicated the club-like spear leveled at him.  
  
The men or women – Dean couldn’t really tell, as the humanoids surrounding them were all unisex or non-gendered – began to speak, but for some reason it was not translating through the communicators’ translator chip. Words were sporadically translated into very odd English, with a mix of static and unintelligible noise. It did sounds like the words “Yattho” and “Vojean” were spoken multiple times.  
  
Dean was puzzled by this, as the translator was supposed to be able to translate any foreign language, even those not yet currently discovered or encountered, through the complicated algorithm of recognizing and decoding speech patterns. But maybe this one was just too complicated or too dissimilar to the known languages for the computer to make a reliable translation. Dean did manage to infer they seemed to be introducing themselves, but their gestures for doing so was completely unknown to him.  
  
After a pause, presumably all of the important people had introduced themselves, because some remained silent, Dean tilted his head slightly to the others.  
  
“Unless one of you has any idea what they are saying, I think we’d better get Ellen down here. She’s the linguistics expert; she might be able to understand them better than we can.” Dean suggested, all too aware of the many weapons that were still being waved in his face. He hoped that what he was about to do would not offend the natives in any way, because that would probably get very ugly.  
  
He moved his right hand down slowly and pushed his communicator. Dean moved his head slightly so that his voice would be easily picked up by the communicator.  
  
“Captain to _Impala_ , come in, _Impala_.” He paused for the acknowledging response.  
  
Ellen answered it a second later. “Come in, Captain. What is the problem?” she asked.  
  
“Ellen, I need you to beam down to the planet’s surface. We have natives here and our translators aren’t working properly, possibly due to the same interference you’re experiencing on the ship. So you’re expertise is going to be necessary if we want to keep them from running us through with spears. Crowley should be able to find us if he does a scan near our drop down point and locks onto our tracking position.”  
  
“Acknowledged, Captain. Crowley’s on it right now. I’m on my way down now; I’ll be there as soon as Crowley has co-ordinates for me to beam down.” Ellen cut the transmission. Dean slowly turned back to the natives, smiling. Though that possibly wasn’t the right thing to do, because now they were closing in, speaking rapidly, moving their arms in a strangely co-ordinated up-and-down movement, weapons laid out flat in front of them.  
  
Thankfully, seconds later, Ellen materialized just a few meters from the surrounding circle, a bit queasy and out of breath. Her sudden appearance took the natives by surprise, and they began rapidly talking amongst themselves, which allowed Ellen enough time to recover from the rough transport. Having done so, she marched over to them, hands raised in surrender.  
  
“Greetings from Planet Earth, United Federation of Planets.” Ellen spoke in clear English, surprising Dean.  
  
Ellen pressed one finger to her ear piece when they parted to let her through, as all of them began to speak at once. Ellen was concentrating hard, no doubt listening with one ear at the raw alien language and the other listening to the rough translation and static of her earpiece-translator. As soon as they stopped talking, she pulled it out and put it in her trousers pocket. Then she walked over to a small petite native that had some sort of hieroglyphic symbol tattooed on its forehead. Dean shot her a questioning look, but Ellen ignored him. She knelt on both knees before the small creature, which barely cleared her head even when kneeling. Dean presumed this was actually the leader of the tribe. Then she began to speak in a galactic language, voice hesitant and slow.  
  
Dean didn’t know what language she was speaking, but it was definitely a Federation language they had encountered before in this area of the galaxy, but it was interspersed with words that sounded like some of the guttural noises the natives were making earlier. As Ellen spoke, the natives began to congregate behind the small leader, arranging themselves tiered, beginning with their leader, followed by a pair, continuing one with an extra being added to each line until the last row had five, the tallest of the aliens.  
  
When Ellen stopped talking, the leader held her hand up to Ellen’s forehead and spoke. All Dean could understand through the translator was “acceptable”. They broke out in a synchronized howl, possibly they were singing, but Dean couldn’t be sure. The group fanned out to surround them again, hopping from one foot to the other and whirling their weapons around their heads.  
  
Suddenly, they came to a complete silent standstill.  
  
Ellen turned to the others and smiled. “It’s alright, I told them that we mean them no harm and that we were from a distant planet. I explained that we were only interested in improving our knowledge and learning from their wisdom. It seems like they value knowledge, if their reaction is anything to judge.”  
  
“How do you figure that?” Sam asked.  
  
“Because they just made me Honorary Galactic Planetary Ambassador. That was their induction ceremonial dance,” Ellen smirked, smug.  
  
“And how did you know that’s what it was? You can’t have picked up on it that easily!” Dean pouted.  
  
Ellen almost rolled her eyes at the Captain. She couldn’t help but make a disbelieving noise as she next spoke, “Tsk, typical men. Communicating with a foreign language isn’t always about the words. It’s all about _expression_ and gestures; making sure you address the right person, don’t do or say anything that may be offensive if it gets lost in translation.” She looked accusatorily at Dean, who was at a loss. What the hell had he done to offend them?  
  
“Most civilizations are born out of matriarchy, Captain. There is power in the ability to give life. In many cultures, not all those with status are born into it, which is the case here. The tribe’s leader is also their spiritual leader. That would be Alithea here,” Ellen pointed at Alithea, who raised her fist to her shoulder in an introductory salute. “She’s waving, so wave back.” The crew compiled.  
  
“Anyway, they give you permission to keep exploring and gathering data. They’ll even take you to their settlement, if you want.” Ellen gestured toward the hill.  
  
Dean told her to accept their offer and she spoke to the leader, using the same circular motions that the natives had just been using. The natives let out a low growl, a truly terrifying sound, but evidently it meant the opposite of how it sounded because Ellen smiled and followed behind them. They were moving in some kind of conga-line, walking in pairs and again, decreasing in height. One side only held the boomerang-club and the other all held the spear-like knife, and they struck their weapons together in rhythm as they walked to make the beat that they marched to. Dean and his crew did not join in. Some were more amused than others, causing Dean to shoot a warning look at Bobby and the Ghostfacers when they looked like they were about to burst out laughing. Instead, the crew followed slowly, making sure to take a few steps back when the natives did, every thirty or so steps forward.  
  
Ellen whispered, “This was probably some form of Entrance of Honor, a parade of ceremony to introduce us to the colony.” Her explanation had Dean wondering just how many other tribe men and women were out there, hiding amongst the shrubbery. “If they have any gods, the rhythm could be a part of a religious ceremony. Either that or they’re warning their settlement to prepare for them, who might need forewarning before strangers just _appeared_ in their settlement. I have no way of knowing for sure, since we have no record of sentient life on this planet or any surrounding it.” Ellen said.  
  
As it was, they were taken to the entrance of the settlement, which was little more than a break in the foliage. They would have missed it if it were not for their company. Beyond the entrance was an encampment that could barely be described as such. Scattered around the area were beds of densely compressed leaves, and nothing else. No straw huts or shelter of any kind. No collections of dried roots or berries. No noticeable trace of the settlement other than their beds.  
  
“Intriguing,” said Castiel. “They seem to have little use for shelter on this planet. That rules out any unfavorable weather patterns and large predators. The lack of hunting gear and weapons suggests that they also rely on the surrounding forest for their diet.”  
  
Cas’s scientific intrigue was cut off by the natives, who now surrounded them. Dean thought he saw some new faces, so he perhaps they were now being greeted by the entire tribe, but he couldn’t be sure. He just hoped this wouldn't be when they were killed for meat, or ritually sacrificed. Ellen was talking to their tiny leader, making gestures that the other tribe’s folk mimic. Then she began to hum. Everyone looked quizzically at each other, except Castiel and Sam, who were looking at their tripods and scanning the area, wearing similar looks of intense concentration.  
  
When the native’s humming stopped, Ellen turned to them. “They are offering to take us to their shrine. It is a great honor to visit their God, and it would be best not to refuse. That might be taken as an insult. We have been assured that they will greet us with a welcoming feast on our return. Whatever misgivings you have, keep them to yourself,” Ellen translated.  
  
“They don’t have any wildlife here, what the hell do they eat?” Dean asked.  
  
“Dean, didn’t I just say to shut up?” Ellen remarked.  
  
“So then we should pay a visit to their shrine,” Sam interjected, turning to address the group. “Clearly whatever is happening on this plant is concentrated to this specific area. Many civilizations have worshiped phenomena they can’t explain, and if we check it out, we might have our answer to what’s happening here.”  
  
“The only way I’m going to know if there is anything of use here is to see more of it. So far, I got nothin’ that’ll keep the ship flyin’,” Bobby shrugged.  
  
“We may be the native’s first visitors from the Federation, but clearly the idea of alien beings is not foreign to them. If they noticed the lieutenant materializing earlier; they were not fazed, so they are not alarmed by alien technology. Perhaps we will learn more at this shrine, and anything Ellen is able to decipher from their religion,” Castiel chimed in. “This must be an important place for the natives, so I advise discretion when searching for readings.”  
  
The others nodded in agreement.  
  
“Alright, let’s be off then, Ellen,” Dean looked expectantly over to where she stood beside the leader.  
  
Ellen shot him an exasperated look before turning to Alithea and translating their wish to see the shrine. Dean supposed the tribesfolk were happy, as they were growling again, stamping their spears against the ground. After several beats, they began chanting again, and this time, two of the larger beings took a hold of their leader, who held her arms out, elbows bent at right angles upward, as though she were holding a large box or book as an offering. They fell into a steady march with two people abreast, along a well-worn path in the undergrowth. Someone new strode up to take a place beside Ellen, who was also very short and began to whisper an explanation of their ritual. Ellen translated as best she could.  
  
“Alithea is their Head Priestess, which is why she has the place of honor at the front of the tribe. She is being carried by the two Head Priests because she is becoming the vessel through which they commune with this God. Our guide here is Satiev, and she’s training to be a Priestess, though she is quite young,” Ellen smiled at her.  
  
Dean had his tricorder silently recording her explanation, though he noticed some of the others were holding their tricorders in various grips, attempting to look nonchalant. Bobby would be scanning the ground and rocks for minerals, Sam and Castiel most likely reading the foliage for scientific data, Dr. Crusher observing the natives, and the Ensigns were trying to do it all, while the ‘Facers took visual records. Dean also realized they were being lead closer to the mountain.  
  
“Ellen, are they taking us to the mountain or something?” Dean asked.  
  
Ellen spoke to the young girl, who replied, “Yes, the entrance to the Shrine is at the foot of the mountain.”  
  
_‘Score,’_ thought Dean.  
  
“I’m going to ask about the legend surrounding the shrine, maybe it has some clues,” Ellen added.  
  
The young priestess seemed very happy to tell the story of their God, speaking in a very soothing hum, almost as if she was singing. Satiev allowed for Ellen to translate to the away party by pausing periodically.  
  
“The legend of the mountain is as old as time. Before the Yattho were here, and before the existence of life on this planet. Many years ago, the mountain slowly grew out of the ground, which was flat as far as the eye could see. When it had reached the height it is now, a great rumbling shook the planet, and the mountain exploded with light. A crack formed at its base, where the current entrance now lies.  
  
“It is said that God was hiding inside, waiting for someone to hear her wisdom. Then one day, a man, the oldest man, journeyed into the wilderness and came across the entrance, which had widened over time. Believing it was a well of knowledge, he journeyed inside. This was when God came out of the mountain, having finally been disturbed after many years. She was not pleased that the man had not announced himself, or paid her respects, so she blasted him out of the mountain with a force that left him crippled. It served as a warning to all those who came after. She is elusive and only shows her presence by continuing to provide the natives with the blessings of life you see around this planet.”  
  
They were approaching the shrine entrance now, and Dean could see what she meant by “blasted out of the mountain.” The entrance looked as though someone had planted explosives into the rock, the opening was all harsh angles and jagged rock. The rocks that Dean supposed had been propelled from the explosion were now lining the pathway to the entrance.  
  
“Fascinating,” murmured Castiel.  
  
“This legend is trying to explain a hole in the wall,” Dean said, clearly unimpressed. “What would be fascinating is if we could actually find out what the hell is going on here.”  
  
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Ellen responded. The young girl was singing again. “We all need to copy what they do and say, ‘I beguile myself to Veratas, Goddess of great virtue. Receive me and cleanse me of falsehood,” Ellen told them, gesturing to the natives who were already chanting, with arms shaking and feet stamping.  
  
They awkwardly imitated the worship dance and uttered the words in English. Apparently, they were satisfied with their attempt, or Veratas was appeased with their intent, because the tribe entered the shrine and ushered the landing party inside with them.  
  
“Well, at least we know what their God is called,” Sam muttered, attempting to hide his embarrassment.  
  
Once inside, they were led down a sloping, windy path into the rock. Though there could not have been any natural lighting or anything that would act like candles, the walls were aglow with a warm golden light.  
  
After about twenty minutes, the path opened up and they walked into a large elongated cavern. On the far side of the room, a statue stood as though carved out of the rock. She had no hair, wore a simple tunic and was not much taller than the High Priestess. The Goddess stood with her arms reaching upward as if welcoming her visitors to marvel at the space, encased under kilometers of rock. Indeed, it felt impressive, though a little claustrophobic. Dean was reminded of the pyramids on Earth, created many thousands of years ago to encase the Pharaoh’s tombs. He shivered. He sure hoped this would not be theirs.


	3. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on medical technology in Star Trek for those unfamiliar with the show; they are advanced enough to heal pretty much all superficial wounds and most human diseases and conditions.

 

Looking down at his tricorder surreptitiously, he was taken aback at what he saw – its charm quark particle readings were off the scale. This place was buzzing with quantum energy, though he was at a loss to explain why.  
  
The natives had gone still, heads bowed, facing the statue. The others were looking around, bemused. Dean was wondering whether he dared ask the question burning in his mind, when the natives stood up straight and moved closer to the statue.  
  
Ellen translated the young priestesses short explanation, given as an afterthought, her attention focused on the High Priestess. “They were just praying for themselves and their Priestess. She is about to offer herself to the Goddess Veratas, to become her physical body.”  
  
They watched, intrigued, to see what would happen. Every tricorder was focused on the High Priestess, discretion forgotten. Alithea was carried to the only other thing in the room; two cylinders of rock set two meters apart. The priests carrying her put her down there, and took two steps back. As they did so, she moved forward, arms still held at right angles. After a few steps, she stopped, knelt down and prostrated herself along the ground, hands over her head, reaching towards the Goddess. She began a comforting yet powerful chant that seemed to fill the entire cavern with sound and vibration. The others joined Alithea after she had completed her first chant. The very air seemed to thrill with life, a sensation the tricorders were trying to interpret and explain. Quantum readings were all over the place, reacting with the very molecules surrounding them.  
  
The natives were engrossed in their chant, arms extended upwards in prayer, as if a mystical power were flooding through them. Dean wondered if this was actually the case; their life force was surrounded by these overactive subatomic particles. Gradually, their chanting began to subside, until it was a mere whisper. Slowly, Alithea rose to sit back on her knees, fanned her arms outward, and then to her feet. She turned to face them. Her eyes stared blankly forward, her limbs, graceful before, seemed to float effortlessly.  
  
“You wish to understand the mystery of why life exists on this planet.” Alithea spoke in a deep, slow voice, entirely unlike her own. She spoke directly to the crew, who’s surprised exclamations of “What? “How is she speaking English?” “Are the translators working again?” “Why can we now understand her?” were silenced as she continued.  
  
“These are a peaceful people, protective only of me. They understand the miracle of their lives and how fragile life is on this planet. You think them a primitive race, yet they understand the universe of stars and planets far more than you realize. I would tell you that I am God, and I imparted this earth and knowledge, but I know you would require evidence to explain this planet. You are surrounded by the answers you seek. You are explorers, scientists from a faraway land, wishing to discover the secrets that lie within these walls.”  
  
Dean could not deny this.  
  
“Should you wish it, I will allow you to remain here for a time and I will allow you to explore. So long as I have your word that you keep beyond this sacred space.” She gestured to the two cylinders.  
  
“Yes, yes we will,” Sam stuttered, bowing awkwardly in his haste to appease. Following his brother, Dean did likewise.  
  
“Very well, please, make your observations. You will be left in peace.”  
  
With that, the natives pumped their fists; a gesture Dean presumed was to encourage them forward. However, they were hesitant. Alithea walked back through the threshold, and as though a blast of wind had swept over her, seemed to fall back into her body. She turned to Ellen and spoke in her native language, no longer possessed with the power to speak in tongues. Ellen translated in a voice light with incredulity.  
  
“Alithea will lead the others back to the settlement, where they will begin preparations for the feast. We are to stay as long as we like, the Goddess understands that it will take some time to find our answers.” Alithea walked until she was in front of Ellen, her tribes folk falling into line behind her.  
  
“Heed the words spoken by the Goddess, Alithea will know if you have not been faithful to your word.”  
  
She looked at each of them with a fierce eye, waiting while each member of the crew nodded their acknowledgement of the deal that had been struck. Satisfied, Alithea stepped out into the tunnel leading to the surface, leaving the away team alone in the spacious cavern. As soon as the natives had disappeared, everyone began talking at once, whirling their tricorders around the place, gesturing wildly and exclaiming how they couldn’t understand what had just happened.  
  
“It’s impossible, how was she able to communicate with us? And then suddenly couldn’t anymore?” asked Ellen, still at a complete loss.  
  
“I have no idea. Even if we consider the possibility of some kind of quantum physics phenomenon unique to this planet, allowing for the existence of life, that doesn’t explain her ability to talk to us or why she stopped, as soon as she stepped over that altar.”  
  
“Captain, I believe, in the moments she was ethereal – possessed, if you will – I recorded a change in her biology. It does seem incredible, but it was as if she altered species while talking to us in English.” Dr. Crusher was looking from her tricorder to the Captain with a look of astonishment. “I have never seen anything like it. There are some species that change genders at will, yes, and some who alter as they age or live in various atmospheric environments, but to seemingly change as a result of quantum intervention? It’s unheard of.”  
  
“Why is it that she changed when she crossed over the threshold there?” Geordi asked, tricorder pointed towards the two cylinders. Bobby answered while pointing his tricorder at alternating points along the ceiling and ground. “Might have something to do with where it is.” When the others looked at him, questioning, he explained. “This cave right here sits at about the center of this mountain. I reckon whatever is over there is the epicenter of seismic or whatever activity they have been experiencing on this planet.”  
  
Sam snapped his fingers, dawning comprehension splitting his face into a wide grin. “That’s it! This disturbance, the vibrations, it’s their form of volcanic activity! Just as lava helps create bedrock; this must help create the soil as a basis for life here. In theory, it’s similar to an Earth volcano, yet completely different.” He gazed around, a soft ‘huh!’ escaping.  
  
“And that explains _so_ much,” muttered Dean, not convinced they had actually answered any questions at all.  
  
_Well, if the_ center _of activity was over there, I'm going to go take a better look,_ Dean decided. He began walking towards the middle of the room, tricorder extended, trying to understand what it was recording, in light of Sam’s little revelation.  
  
As he got closer, and the others gathered around him at the foot of the altar, he could feel the vibrations in the earth intensify.  
  
“Do you feel that?” Dean asked when they came to a stop at the threshold. They looked at each other.  
  
“It’s like an energetic pulse emulates from this point,” Sam said. “The neutrino wavelengths are off the charts and quark energy particles are skyrocketing.”  
  
“The quantum energy is beaming up from the planet’s core to this point and up through the top of the volcano. I wonder if it is always erupting with this invisible energy, or if this is the result before or after an eruption?” Castiel wondered aloud.  
  
“Where is the center exactly, Bobby?” Dean asked. After a minute of looking at his tricorder, and moving around, he pointed towards the statue. “There. If not the statue itself, pretty darn close to it.”  
  
“Well then,” Dean said. “Better go take a closer look if we want answers already.” He stepped over the threshold.  
  
“What? No, Dean!” Sam exclaimed. The others were equally apprehensive.  
  
“Captain, I do not believe this is a good idea. I am not a cultural expert, but violating an agreement would reflect poorly on this crew and on Starfleet.” Castiel stated.  
  
Dean shrugged. “They won’t know. I promise I’ll be quick,” he flashed them a wink and a grin and started towards the statue.  
  
“Dean!” Sam hissed, a look of constipated aggression on his face. “You’re disregarding their trust and disrespecting their religion! We don’t have to intrude to find our answers!”  
  
“Yeah, if we want to spend all day here,” he shot back. “I want to get the hell out of here and back to my ship.  
  
He was close now, he knew it. The closer he got to the statue, the stranger the air around him felt, almost like walking through a sauna. He could hear a rumbling under his feet, growing louder with every step. The air seemed to be vibrating with sound, a soft whistling that grew louder as he approached. Dean realized it was the same frequency Ellen had picked up earlier on the subspace communication channels.  
  
“Dean!” Sam shouted, anger rising.  
  
“Shut your cake-hole, Sam. The only way we’re going to get answers is by getting in close. This is the center of the quark energy, I can feel it. It’s almost like the statue here is a warp core of a starship. Everything runs out from the center here.” He held up his tricorder to it. “Why though? Why here, and not anywhere else on the planet? Would the energy get stronger over time and spread over the rest of the planet’s surface?” he muttered. “What’s so special about this place?”  
  
The energy was increasing in intensity; now meters from the statue, Dean could feel it pulsing around him.  
  
“Dean, if this volcano can erupt, we don’t know when it could happen or what the effects will be! It could kill you, for God’s sake! Get your ass back here!” Sam was fidgeting, getting quite agitated.  
  
“Yeah, but this planet doesn’t have a molten core, so lava won’t be spewing into this cavern. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be here, so clearly it doesn’t act like an Earth volcano.”  
  
“Even so, Captain, it would not be wise to be so close if an eruption does occur. The frequency of the charm quarks is increasing, and I’d expect that to mean there is some kind energy build up happening in this very chamber,” Castiel stated.  
  
“The quarks are concentrated here – it might be what’s creating life on this planet!” Dean called out. “Whatever you’ve got over there, it’s nothing to what I’m seeing.” He leaned in closer to the statue, his tricorder centimeters from the carved rock. Dean was so focused on the tricorder screen, that when a particularly violent quake shook the ground under him, he lost his balance. He reached out and grabbed a hold of the statue.  
  
In an instant, he was blinded, thrown off his feet. He flew across the room, the force of it slamming him into the rough ground towards the middle of the room. He slid to the ground between the two pillars, unconscious.  
  
“Dean!” Sam was screaming, already at his side. He sounded far away, his voice muffled, as though speaking through a glass wall.  
  
He could not move. He did sense Dr. Crusher close, tricorder out, afraid to touch him for fear of aggravating any injuries. Dean slipped in and out of consciousness, barely aware that the entire cave was shaking, and everyone had dropped to the ground, unable to stand.  
  
Eventually, the quakes subsided and Dean was able to regain consciousness. He struggled to rise and became aware of a strong hand on his shoulder, helping him up. It felt warm and familiar, but Dean felt so disoriented that he was not sure who it was.  
  
“Can you stand, Captain?” Dr. Crusher asked softly.  
  
“Is it safe?” Sam asked, voice hitched with worry.  
  
She must have acknowledged it; Dean was having trouble hearing. There was a loud ringing in his ears, and blood rushed to his head, making him lightheaded. He still tried to stand, only made possible by the strong grip on his arm. Once upright, he continued to lean heavily into Sam.  
  
Then, he felt a very strange sensation rise up through his body, from his feet to his skull. He had never felt anything like it before. It was not a tingling, sharp pain or even like being dipped in gel or something slimy. Dean suspected it might be what it would feel like to have all your bones, muscles and organs liquefy and instantly reform, but he could not say for sure. For that instant, he could not stand, drained of all energy. Sam caught him as he collapsed, lowering him gently back to the ground.  
  
Dean came to in a flash, eyes flying open. Sam had his arms around him, while Castiel had his tricorder trained on him, eyebrows knitted together and frowning deeply. Dean sprang away from Sam, startling him, and quickly jumped to his feet. Cries of “Captain!” exploded from the crew, afraid he was about to unsteady himself again. Dean waved them off.  
  
“I’m fine, I’m fine.”  
  
Unconvinced, they looked to Castiel and Dr. Crusher, who both held their tricorders up to him. They looked at each other, puzzled.  
  
“Indeed, the Captain is in good health,” Castiel spoke to answer the unasked question, though he continued to look troubled.  
  
“So then what’s with that look?” Sam asked.  
  
“I’m just getting some unusual readings. Nothing potentially harmful, it’s just strange.” Castiel replied.  
  
“Well, that’s awesome. I feel great guys, look! Not even a speck of blood or anything.” Dean patted his chest, attempting to smooth his now frayed and tattered shirt. “We should head back to the settlement. If we leave a tricorder or data recorder on the planet, we can continue monitoring from orbit.”  
  
“Shouldn’t we stay or find out as much as we can from the planet firsthand, Captain?” Riker asked.  
  
“Nah, we have so much data already that will need to go through the computers before we can make any meaningful hypothesis. We should go eat. C’mon, I’m starving,” Dean grinned widely, clapping Riker on the shoulder as he walked past everyone, towards the tunnel leading to the surface.  
  
Everyone looked at each other, all troubled at how flippant the Captain was acting, and a little unsure if they should follow. Despite the unsolved mystery of the cavern, Sam wasn’t about to let Dean go off on his own, so he turned to follow Dean. The others fell into step behind him. Sam hurried to catch up with Dean, who was climbing the slope effortlessly. When he drew level with Dean, Sam was out of breath and wondering how the hell his brother was okay. ‘ _You were thrown ten plus meters, and you just picked yourself up like it was nothing. And why aren’t you bleeding? Your shirt is wrecked; you should have some shocking gravel rash. So why don’t you?_ ’ Sam wondered, not taking his eyes off his brother.  
  
“Lay off it, Sam. I told you I was fine, and I meant it,” Dean warned.  
  
Sam shot Dean an intense, sharp look that screamed, ‘ _What the hell?_ ’ The crew had caught up to them by this point and exchanged looks. They hadn’t heard Sam say anything; he had just followed his Captain dutifully, so why was Dean angry with him?  
  
They walked the rest of the way back to the settlement in silence. As they drew near, the natives must have heard them ambling through the undergrowth, as they came out to meet them. They had painted a deep red paste over their faces and arms, which favored their dark skin, and holding an array of yellow and orange fruits on leaf platters. The away team stood marveling at the native’s transformation, when the Head Priestess began to make her way toward them through the parted crowd. As soon as she laid eyes on Dean though, she let out a terrible shriek, face contorted horribly, arms lashing out, hands clawed.  
  
Dean took a step back in alarm, while Sam moved forward, body tensed, partially shielding his brother. The tribes folk momentarily turned to Alithea, before joining her hysterical shrieks. They advanced slowly, arms thrown in the air, some drawing weapons.  
  
“I can’t tell what she’s saying!” Ellen shouted, “But it can’t be good!”  
  
“We should get out of here,” Sam said. Turning to his brother, he stopped. Dean had clasped his hands over his ears, shut his eyes tight and tensed against the overwhelming sound and movement from the natives. Sam placed a hand on his shoulder, softly inquiring, “Dean?”  
  
It was too much for Dean. The touch sent a fire through his body, and he screamed and screamed. Falling to the ground, Dean’s body seized and he continued to scream in agony. Sam dropped to the ground, face white. As soon as he touched Dean, his body went into spasms, thrashing violently against the ground. At the Captain’s collapse, the team reacted automatically, rehearsed through years of training and drills.  
  
Bobby called up to the ship, yelling, “Get a lock on us and get use the hell out of here – NOW!”  
  
“Dr. Crusher to Sick Bay. The captain is injured, prepare for direct beam up.” Flipping out her tricorder, she scanned the Captain.  
  
The Ghostfacers jumped forward to form a protective barrier in front of the crew, armed with phasers. The native’s had now begun to advance, new arrivals streaming in from all sides, holding their spears out to the crew.  
  
“Let’s get the hell out of here!” Bobby yelled. Sam picked Dean up and threw him over his shoulder, and began to run back the way they had come. The others followed behind.  
  
“I can sense that she’s very angry,” Castiel called out. “Maybe she does in fact know that the Captain crossed the threshold into the forbidden area.”  
  
“Yeah, but why go ballistic?” asked Bobby, panting slightly.  
  
“It could be seen as though the Captain desecrated their Garden of Eden. Religious wars throughout history have been started for much less.” Castiel stated.  
  
When they reached the clearing at the foot of the mountain, Sam carefully set Dean against a nearby boulder. He slumped, unconscious, but his limbs still twitched.  
  
“Why can’t they beam us up?” Sam asked Bobby, panting harshly.  
  
“They’re still having some trouble with the planet’s atmosphere.” Bobby cursed the transporter. He tapped his communicator. “Engineering, work with the transporters to get a lock on us. Find a way to cut through the interference! We have a medical emergency here!”  
  
They could hear the native’s stampeding towards them, undeterred by their phaser blasts.  
  
“What the Captain did sure pissed them off,” Geordi muttered, looking down at his First Officer, crouched besides the Captain. After a pause, he said, “Maybe you should move back a bit, Commander.” The look Sam gave him would have gagged most Ensigns. But Geordi continued, timidly. “I can see some kind of energy field around the Captain. It could be what is causing his pain, and it may be contagious.”  
  
Sam looked as though he could give a rat’s ass, but a crash through the undergrowth drew him upward, phaser in hand and ready to fire. Ed and Harry nearly ran straight into him, veering wildly at the last second, whirled around, out of breath. Seeing Maggie on guard in the clearing, they went to hold her with a soft, “You’re safe.”  
  
Letting go, they announced, “They’re coming. Not far behind.”  
  
“Dammit! Come in, _Impala,_ do you have a lock on us yet?” Bobby snapped.  
  
“We do, Lieutenant,” came the reply.  
  
“Finally! Then beam us up, we’re all here,” Bobby exasperated.  
  
“Beam us straight to Sick Bay,” Dr. Crusher said.  
  
Just then, one of the natives burst into the opening, lashing his spear at Sam, who was closest. Sam ducked, but was caught off guard and not quite quick enough. The sharp blade sliced into his cheek, splattering blood into the air as he began to dematerialize. As his vision of the orange planet faded, he saw the rest of the tribe swarming them. Next second, he saw the bright lights of the medical bay. They had barely finished materializing when a bone chilling scream turned Sam’s blood to ice.  
  
Dean was writhing on the floor, arms and legs jerking violently, the force of it throwing him around. The entire medical team descended on him, but Sam was there first.  
  
Castiel gripped his shoulder and wrenched him away. “Sam, let us help him!” Castiel yelled.  
  
Sam stumbled back, while the rest of the landing party made to swiftly exit the sick bay. Vaguely he was aware that someone was telling Bobby that “whatever it was, it allowed us to cut through the interference, and get a lock. We can also go to warp now.”  
  
“Do it. Get to the Starbase, fast as we can.” Sam said. “Send a message ahead to notify them of the Captain’s status.” The officers moved to do his bidding.  
  
Sam did not take his eyes off Dean, just watched the chaos in a daze, heart at his throat. The medical team worked quickly, some of the larger nurses picked Dean up and carried him to the intensive care biobed. Castiel located a hypospray to calm the Captain, administered as they tried to put the fighting Captain on the bed. Immediately, they knew something was wrong. Every machine starting screaming, lighting up the displays with every emergency code.  
  
“He’s gone into cardiac arrest! Get me 0.6 milligrams of glyceryl trinitrate and an oxygen mask,” Castiel shouted, moving to the monitors on the biobed, tapping frantically.  
  
The bed’s covering monitors came up, encasing the Captain in a controlled environment. It began running every kind of test imaginable at light speed, displaying the information across the screens, figures and symbols flashing sporadically. One of the staff handed the hyposprays to Castiel, who administered them deftly. Nothing seemed to happen for a long, agonizing moment. Castiel pressed command after command into the biobed, checking Dean’s status on the monitors each time.  
  
Then, thankfully, a heartbeat. Weak, slow, and unsteady, but at least a heartbeat. Sam let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’s been holding. Castiel seemed relieved too, but the moment was short lived. Someone tried to pull Sam to a bed to heal his cut, but he impatiently pushed them away. Castiel moved between the computer monitors, his tricorder and the biobed display, deeply puzzled, not understand the contradictory readings. He wanted to draw some blood and tissues samples for analysis, but feared an adverse reaction. After the Captain’s episode earlier, caused when someone merely _touched_ him, Castiel knew it was a great risk. He would have to risk it though; he needed to find out more about what was so severely affecting the Captain.  
  
“Dr. Crusher, please assist me while I take a tissue sample. I would like you to take a blood sample at the same time, to minimize the Captain’s potential reaction.” Castiel called to Dr. Crusher.  
  
Gently, they took their respective samples, intent on as little contact as possible. Thankfully, the affect was minimal, helpful if anything. Now Dean had a strong, steady heartbeat, though he still lay unconscious. Sam moved in closer, now that the frantic urgency had lessened. He opened his mouth to ask Castiel, but Castiel help up a hand.  
  
“I don’t know. I will have to run some tests. But he’s in a stable coma for now.”  
  
“I’ll come with you,” Sam said at once.  
  
“No,” Castiel interjected. “You are emotionally compromised, and you need medical treatment yourself.”  
  
Sam reached up to touch the gash on his right cheek, pulling away fingers coated in still wet blood.  
“I’m fine. I want to stay with him.” Sam moved in beside Dean’s biobed.  
  
“Very well. But you should rest soon. I could make it a Doctor’s order.”  
  
Sam glared at him, almost daring Castiel to try.  
  
“Fine, Commander.” Castiel sighed, after a minute of studying Sam’s determination. “Just know that I have no idea what we’re dealing with, and what affect the quarks will have on the Captain’s health and recovery. I can’t get an accurate reading from the equipment. All I know is what I sense; the Captain’s life is in danger.”  
  
“You have to save him, Cas.” Sam’s voice cracked, visibly shaken.  
  
“To do that, I must run these tests. Excuse me,” with that, Castiel left Sam alone with Dean.  
  
When Dean came into consciousness, his mind felt broken. It flew in every direction; as if his awareness was everywhere at once. He could hear everything that was going on inside the ship. He also knew that he was unconscious, yet in a strange semi-dream state. He could hear the Doctors and nurses discussing his condition, wary of what to do next. Dean didn’t want to hear this, so to his shock, his mind went off completely on its own. He had no idea how, but he was flying around the ship, eavesdropping on conversations while thousands of thoughts flashed through his mind every second; almost too many to process. His mind was in chaos. Dean had no idea how to stop it, panicking at the thought of not being in control.  
  
As time passed and the further his mind went, the slower and more detailed these images came to him. He was able to catch more than just snippets of conversation; zoning into their psyche and reading their thoughts and hearing their conversation at the same time, with the surrounding passersby’s thoughts coherent as well. He heard a whole host of things he had not expected of his crew – like how bitchy the _men_ were to each other with snide internal comments.  
  
By the time he got to the engineering room, he was already starting to gain some measure of control over his flyaway mind. He thought he knew how to direct it as he wanted. At the very least, he had managed to force his mind to continue on if he didn’t want to overhear something. Dean was beginning to feel sickened with himself for overhearing so much of his crews' private thoughts – it wasn’t right that he knew these things. It breached a huge bond of trust between a captain and his crew. Unfortunately, he didn’t know how to make his mind return to his own psyche. Hopefully, he could just keep continuously moving throughout the ship until he was able to better control it, and eventually tune it out. It almost seemed like he was in luck because he noticed Bobby’s presence in the engineering room and zoned in, rushing straight toward his mind, as it was emanating a calm, methodical happiness. He was working on fixing a few cracks that had been caused during the last hasty jump to Warp.  
  
Crowley was lounging against the console while Bobby continued to fix the flux compactor, determined to ignore him. Crowley smirked at the ass pointed over in his director, inwardly wondering if Robert knew the signals his subconscious was conveying – even if he was consciously still attempting to deny it.  
  
“You want to be careful there, arse on display like that. Someone will think you’re trying to sell them something.”  
  
Bobby stood and whipped around, almost overbalancing. His face blushed deep red. Crowley smirked, triumphant at having captured his attention so easily.  
  
“Now look here, you jumped up alien pri–” Bobby began, voice cold as ice.  
  
“Still with the xenophobic insults, Robert, really?” Crowley’s eyebrows drew together in mock offence. “Thought you’d have got over that once you found out what a devil I am in the sack.”  
  
_‘Wait, what?’_ Dean gawped. ‘ _I thought Bobby and Crowley hated each other! Since when have they been sleeping together?’_ Dean felt himself recoil at his own curiosity; certain he did not want to know the answer.  
  
Crowley fixed Bobby with his haughtiest smirk. “Although you sir, you aren’t so bad yourself. And to think, it all started right here.” Crowley glanced over his right shoulder at the desk currently covered in tools. Crowley’s memory flashed back to that day – the day after they had been let out of the brig.  
  
Bobby had worked two shifts straight, cursing constantly about no one was able to do anything right without him. He was so surly the rest of the mechanic team had fled to _any_ other part of the ship. Therefore, when Crowley had slunk in after his shift had ended, they were alone. Having one set goal in mind, Crowley had also disabled the security monitors in the room just before leaving his station. By the time anyone noticed, they would have progressed far beyond the Engine room.  
  
Bobby barely glanced at him when he entered, but let out a low growl, “What are you doing here, Crowley?”  
  
“I thought we could work off some of that excess tension between us,” Crowley stated as he leaned back against the desk, eyes waggling suggestively.  
  
Bobby’s face darkened and he advanced, glowering. Crowley half-smiled and quirked an eyebrow. As soon as Bobby was close enough, Crowley whipped out, quick as lightening, to grab the front of Bobby’s shirt and yank him close. Bobby stumbled and almost fell with his full weight onto Crowley, but managed to break his fall last second by bracing against the desk. Crowley leaned closer to Bobby, breath skating over his beard.  
  
“Cut the crap, shall we?” Crowley snarled, his other hand flying out to grip Bobby’s shoulder in a vice.  
  
“Wha-?” Bobby was abruptly cut off by Crowley, covering his mouth in a bruising kiss. Bobby let out a gasp of surprise, and Crowley took advantage of his sudden open mouth to lick into it.  
  
Bobby ripped himself away at that, face thunderous. “Now what the hell do you think you’re playing at?”  
  
Crowley’s grip prevented him from leaning more than a foot away. “Well, I _am_ the devil you know.” Crowley smirked, eyebrows raised. “And cut the bullshit. We both know you want it and I swear to Hell if you don’t fuck me over this desk right now, I _swear_ to you –”  
  
Crowley’s insistent growl was cut off by Bobby covering his mouth in a hungry kiss. Hands pulled at clothing, stripping away their uniform as best they could. Then Crowley reclined back over the desk, arching into Bobby’s chest as he towered over him, leaning down to reclaim his mouth.  
  
“Now, that’s –” Crowley huffed when Bobby grabbed his cock and fisted it with long, rough strokes.  
  
“Too much talking,” Bobby grunted, cutting him off, hoisting Crowley’s hips closer, angled for better access. Crowley moaned and twisted, grappling to find a hold when Bobby’s cockhead nudged and pressed against his quivering, desperate hole.  
  
“Darn it, no lube,” Bobby hissed as he continued to rock his hips, his cock sliding up to nudge Crowley’s balls, then dragging back down over the skin until he was pressed once again to Crowley’s opening.  
  
Crowley’s eyes rolled in his head and he panted with the effort of trying to concentrate. He pulled a small vial from the pocket of his uniform trousers that were piled beside his head.  
  
Holding it out to Bobby, Crowley panted, “Always at the ready.”  
  
“You came _prepared_?”  
  
“You betcha,” Crowley winked as Bobby took the vial, flipped the lid open and began to pour it liberally over himself and down Crowley’s crack.  
  
“And you’ll also find that I opened myself up just for you earlier, so you can go _right in_. No messing about now,” Crowley murmured, fingers grasping Bobby’s arm.  
  
Bobby shuddered, aroused by the mere thought of Crowley having prepared ... having _known_ how desperately he wanted this. The thought of Crowley’s fingers buried inside himself, opening himself up, just for him, possibly moaning his name while he did so ... Bobby had to take a deep breath to steady himself. After a second deep breath, when he felt he could touch himself without coming instantly, he grabbed his cock and guided it to push at Crowley’s entrance. Because fuck it if Bobby was going to wait any longer after hearing _that_.  
  
His head slid neatly past the ring of muscle and Bobby’s eyes rolled as his dick twitched at how hard Crowley must have fucked himself open for him. Crowley was breathing heavily and trembling all over, pushing down on Bobby’s cock sliding slowly in. Bobby had a smart-ass remark on his lips, but it was lost when Crowley _clenched_ , and Bobby felt his entire body seize with overpowering lust. Bobby grabbed a hold of Crowley’s hips and began to thrust, sharp and deep. Both of them were too close to last long, and Crowley kept making the most sinful fucking _noises_.  
  
Whenever he heard his name mingled with various incoherent groans, Bobby felt himself tilting just that little bit closer to the edge. His hands were slippery on Crowley’s hips, both of them now covered in a thin layer of sweat. Adjusting his angle only slightly, Bobby ran his right hand up Crowley’s ribcage and up to grip his pecks, stroking his thumb over the perky, sensitive nipple. The other hand slid round to cup Crowley’s buttock, which Bobby squeezed tightly each time he thrust into Crowley. Crowley was yowling now, and Bobby was swearing with such frequency that he could barely tell the words apart anymore.  
  
“Touch me, Bobby, for fucks sake,” Crowley cried, his voice strangled as it burst from him between gasps.  
  
“Not. A – fucking – chance. Going to make – you – come. Just. Like. This.”  
  
Bobby withdrew and angled his thrusts upward so that they hit Crowley’s prostate again and again. Bobby knew he was close, his balls were aching and he felt the pooling of bliss in his gut that signaled his impending release.  
  
He leaned over Crowley and bit into his neck, growling against his skin, “I’m going to come any second now. Inside you. Gonna fill you with my come and watch as you come with me.”  
  
Crowley shuddered violently and arched to press himself up against Bobby, their skin slick as they slid against each other. Bobby gave one last thrust, sucking against Crowley’s neck and squeezing his ass, and they both came simultaneously. Crowley shouted and spurted come over both their chests as Bobby stilled and felt his cock pumping inside of Crowley, filling him with semen. They collapsed against the desk together, minds blissful and bodies utterly exhausted. After a few moments panting against each other, Bobby slid out of Crowley and made to stand.  
  
“I hope you are only leaving me so that we can continue this somewhere a little more ... private.” Crowley insinuated, purring at Bobby.  
  
Bobby blushed deep red, possibly having just realized they had fucked in the engine room where _anyone_ could be watching. He gave a non-committal grunt and bent to pick up his clothing.  
  
“Ahh, never fear, Bobby dear. I disabled the cameras before I came in. Though I daresay my bed would be a far better place to continue this tryst.”  
  
Bobby looked up at him, expression unreadable. He straightened and moved slowly toward Crowley. “Do you mean to tell me that you came here, with it all figured out?”  
  
“Of course,” Crowley replied, smirking.  
  
Bobby grabbed a fistful of short hair, and pulled their mouths together, kissing him fiercely. Bobby could feel Crowley smirking into the kiss and he just pushing in harder, licking and sucking Crowley’s tongue.  
  
When he drew back, Bobby panted in a low growl, “Just for that, I am going to fuck you in the most tortuously slow way I know how.”  
  
Crowley quirked an eyebrow at him. “Is that a promise?”  
  
Bobby grunted and pulled him in for another quick, fierce kiss. When they parted, Bobby bent quickly to pull on his clothes and threw Crowley any of his that he found on the floor.  
  
“Get dressed; time’s a-wasting,” Bobby said as soon as he was fully dressed, but looking far from presentable. His eyes shone with a wild glint and his rumpled hair and clothes gave Bobby a particularly animalistic look. Crowley hummed in appreciation, taking his tantalizing time to dress. Once he had though, he sauntered over to where Bobby hovered at the doorway, pressing flush against him.  
  
“You look fucking ravishing, darling.” Crowley whispered against his ear. “Let me take you back to mine so I can lick you open and suck you long and –”  
  
Crowley’s words were lost when Bobby spun him round, slamming him against the wall. Bobby brought their lips together in a clash of teeth, biting and clutching at Crowley’s face and neck. He had a hand fisted in Crowley’s hair, tugging his head down, exposing his neck and forcing his mouth to fall open. His other hand grasped Crowley’s jaw line and dug his fingers into his exposed neck, pulling him closer while pushing his hips and torso against Crowley’s. They kissed fiercely, Crowley’s almost laughed at his roughness, which morphed into a moan inside Bobby’s mouth. He pushed back, eagerly sliding his tongue over Bobby’s, gripping one hand in the front of his shirt and the other curled round his neck. With a violent thrust of his hips, Bobby’s like a wild thing, mouth hungrily claiming Crowley’s, all teeth and tongue shoving inside. Crowley was the first to pull away.  
  
“Come now, if you keep this up right here, I’m going to come in my pants for the first time in forty years, and that would just be undignified.” Crowley grabbed Bobby’s hand and pulled him through the door, disappearing down the hall.

 


	4. Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those unfamiliar with Star Trek aliens, Betazoid's have empathic abilities.

   

  
The _whoosh_ of the door closing on Crowley’s memory brought Dean’s mind careening back to himself, slamming into his own head violently, causing his whole body to go into shock. The images of Crowley and Bobby rutting together had burned themselves into Dean’s mind in a matter of seconds. Guilt ripped through him and he felt dirty, while the sensations from the vision lit his body on fire. Dean gasped in a shuddering breath as Bobby and Crowley faded from his mind. He felt sick and like he was shaking all over, but his comatose body rendered this impossible. Everything was hyper-sensitized. The air surrounding Dean seemed to throb, the white of the walls and beds were blinding Dean through his closed eyelids. His heart rate had tripled in the last few seconds and Dean could hear the rush as blood pumped through his body, feeling it pulsating under his skin. Although he couldn’t see it, somehow Dean knew that the vital signs monitor was going crazy, lighting up and flashing the danger of the sudden and unexpected stress Dean was suffering.  
  
Sam sensed something was wrong and woke from his doze, staring bleary-eyed at the monitor. As soon as he saw the neurological readings jumping off the scale, Sam jumped up, shouting over his shoulder for Castiel to “get his Betazoid butt in here, _now_!”  
  
“Dean, please, you need to calm down. Just concentrate. Don’t react, just concentrate on calm. Steady breaths; stop thinking – for goodness sake, Dean!” Sam murmured urgently, repeating it in a hushed and rapid whisper that Dean latched onto like an anchor, using it to ground his mind to prevent it from flying apart. He concentrated on nothing but Sam’s crisp tones to prevent himself from invasively wandering into any other minds. He let the words wash over him, not even absorbing the meaning anymore, just allowing the worry in Sam’s soothing voice to help slow his rapidly beating heart.  
  
Castiel and Dr. Crusher ran into the chamber within seconds, but it felt like an hour to Dean. His vital monitor was still showing signs of stress, but not as much as when his mind had first returned to his body. As Sam continued to his pleading, Dean’s mind held onto the words. Wrapped around his brother’s mind and body, his immense heat enveloped him like a blanket. Dean felt himself relax due to his brother’s presence in a way that nothing else could have done.  
  
‘ _Don’t want to do that again. Have to keep my mind away from other people,’_ thought Dean. The guilt from spying on his crew twisted his insides, and his heart now squeezed for upsetting Sam. He could feel Sam’s heart banging in his chest, muscles tense, inwardly racing through a hundred thoughts at once like, _‘How can I help?’ ‘Why is this happening?’ ‘Will he be ok?’ ‘What if he doesn’t get better?’ ‘What will I do without him?’_ His concern for his brother overrode all other thought as he rushed to his side. It took a few seconds before his scientific training kicked in and he grabbed a tricorder from the nearby table.  
  
Sam’s rapid, constant heartbeat helped stabilize Dean. Castiel was flicking through the readouts of the past few minutes on his PADD, perplexed as to how Dean had gone from steady but abnormal readings to highly stressed and dangerously overheated. Yet even as he watched, impossibly, Dean’s vitals were returning once again to his earlier, steady state.  
  
“I don’t understand. How is this possible?” Castiel asked the room at large, though none were able to answer. According to the PADD, the Captain should be dead and decaying from explosive decompression. Dean could feel the confusion simmering underneath Castiel’s impassive mask.  
  
Sam, while furrowing his brow, was radiating relief now that he knew his brother was stabilizing. “Oh thank god.” He collapsed into the chair beside the bed, reaching to stroke Dean’s hair before remembering the Doctor’s earlier orders.  
  
Dean felt his heart thud painfully, filled with the longing he could feel from Sam. It made Dean want to just grab his brother and pull him into a hug, damn the consequences. ‘ _I just want him to know that it’s ok,_ ’ thought Dean, though he couldn’t be certain if it was his own or Sam’s.  
  
All he could manage though were a few twitches of his fingers.  
  
“Cas! Dean’s moving!” Sam exclaimed. “Maybe whatever just happened was like a kick-start to the process of him coming back to normal?”  
  
Castiel also peered down to look, eyes narrowing.  
  
‘ _I really think your deductive powers are lacking right now, Sammy. Nearly having a heart attack does not equate to recovering, in anyone’s book,_ ’ Dean thought, mentally rolling his eyes.  
  
Castiel seemed to agree. “I don’t think so, Commander. It’s more likely an after effect from what just happened. By all logic, he should be dead. His body is probably having an adverse reaction to the stress, his muscles going into spasms from the intensity, even though his mind seems to have recovered sufficiently. Although, obviously, we cannot be sure due to our equipments’ unreliable readings,” Castiel stated.  
  
‘ _Damn fucking straight, Zoidman. No way your iRobot there is picking up how I am traumatized – for life now!_ ’ Dean inwardly bristled.  
  
Sam’s face crumbled and Dean wanted to punch Cas. Sure, Dean felt like he was going to combust, but that was earlier! Sam didn’t need to know that now, especially since he was clearly not dying anymore.  
  
“I can’t give him any hyposprays, since we don’t know what kind of affect it will have on him in this condition. I am keeping a close eye on him, Sam; please do not worry. You need to properly rest; you are doing no one any favors by napping here. I have this entire room monitoring his every vital sign, with any fluctuation being recorded and fed directly to my tricorder. Though for the moment, there is nothing more we can do but sit by and wait for the lab to develop a cure or for whatever is infecting him to break down.”  
  
Sam nodded, still heartbreakingly sad eyes peering down at Dean, not reassured by the doctor’s advice of having to ‘just sit and wait’.  
  
“The Captain is dear to me as well. I will do everything I can to save him,” Castiel said before heading out of the room to return to his synthesizer. Sam stayed behind, leaning in close.  
  
“Dean,” Sam’s voice was gruff, voice thick with emotion. He stared at his brother’s unconscious, unmoving body, cleared his throat, and tried again.  
  
“Dean, you have to make it through this.” Sam paused, hung his head with a slight, disbelieving smile on his face. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I need you to come back to me. I can’t do this without you. The Captain’s chair isn’t for me. I’d be miserable on the bridge without you. You have always been there beside me, and when you’re not, the vacuum left behind can’t be filled – not by me or anyone. I know we always joke about how I’ll kick your ass outta that chair if you fall asleep on the job, but the truth is – I never wanted it.” He breathed shakily in, determined to talk out the emotions that held his heart like a vice.  
  
Dean could feel the lump in his brother’s throat and the pit of despair in his gut he was fighting to repress. With Dean unable to distract him or cut him off, Sam continued to empty his heavy heart.  
  
“You were the one that wanted to follow in Dad’s footsteps. I know there was a lot of pressure to fill the Captain’s chair after what he did, I just wish you wouldn’t push so hard and be so reckless. Starfleet expected a lot from us, and it put a lot of pressure on the both of us. But it’s not a competition, you don’t have to save more people or impress anyone, Dean. We built our own legacy, out of the shadow of Dad. That’s what I love about our ship; we brought all these people into our family, and just doing that we were able to exceed all expectations. I hope you see that Dean; we need you. We love you. I love you. So please, hold on.” A tear slid down Sam’s cheek, a burning trail carved against his skin.  
  
Dean wanted to brush it away and hold Sammy tight and tell him it would be alright; he wasn’t going anywhere. He felt something wash over him, different from the longing ache that pounded against his chest. This was a foreign, yet familiar, kind of ache, heavy in his gut. This was coming from Sam, Dean realized. Dean only felt this way after he thought too much about his parents; the kind of aching, bittersweet love stemming from the loss of a loved one. Only brother’s who suffered together could share an understanding of the kind of pain that left behind; it created a special bond between them, and right now, Dean could feel Sam’s fears in addition to a fierce love for his brother. So intense were Sam’s emotions, they almost drowned out Dean’s own pride and love that filled his chest as he listened to Sam speak.  
  
Dean wanted to tell Sam that he was the most important thing to him. He loved his little brother so much, and there was no way he was going to leave him. He wanted to reach out and grasp Sam’s hand or shoulder, though he already felt mentally and physically wrapped around him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean recalled that he had forbidden himself from using his sudden telepathy on another person. But he couldn’t help it, and Dean wasn’t sure he could stop, even if he wanted to. Sam felt so incredible, the love and loss and fierce devotion so familiar to him. Dean clutched to the thoughts of love, family, sacrifice, pain and _unity_ mixed into the trademark Winchester passion. It was like Dean’s lifeline to sanity, his brother coming through for him once again, drowning him in an ocean of compassion. Wrapped up in Sam, Dean felt as though he was slowly recovering.

 

  
  
There are so many emotions, Dean doesn’t notice Sam has left and returned to his room. Once there, though, those feelings morph and sadness washes over him. Then he notices hot, repetitive beatings against Sam’s skin, dampness on his cheeks washed away by more water. He’s in the shower, Dean belatedly realizes. He is also totally naked.  
  
Even though he had been in various states of undress around his brother, this feels much more intrusive, like he is spying. Now that Sam had retreated to the privacy of his quarters, his carefully maintained exterior was crumbling, and he could not help but sob at the thought of losing Dean, the sight of his body, so still when usually so full of life.  
  
Sam also felt angry with himself, that he allowed Dean to continue without going after him. The hot water stings the cut on his cheek, which he refused to allow anyone to heal. He wants to feel the sting, grit his teeth against the ache, as punishment for his moment of stupidity – of inaction. Sam thinks back to earlier that day, remembers the terror he felt when Dean was blasted across the room. Sam smashes his fist against the tiled wall, his hand pounding against the wall as he grits his teeth against the tears washing down his face. Memories flash back to him; Dean’s violent seizures in his arms, wondering how they were going to get him to safety. The agonizing moment when he had let go of Dean, and he had slumped against the rock. His older brother, who he loves so much. At this thought, shame twists Sam’s stomach. He grips his fists tighter, knowing that he felt more than brotherly love towards Dean.  
  
It was too many years ago to remember when he first began to feel aroused by his brother and realized his love for Dean was more than platonic. But Sam didn’t want to think about that, he’d already analyzed it a thousand times. So he grips his half-hard cock and cups his balls for a quick squeeze with the other hand. As he braces himself against the tiled wall, Sam falls into a familiar fantasy with Dean’s pink lips stretching around his cock.  
  
Dean’s shame morphs into joy as he feels this from Sam. It relieves him to know he wasn’t the only one who had wildly inappropriate thoughts about his brother. Growing up on a Starship with few other people his age, entering puberty had sparked various lust-filled fantasies, though he had always tried to restrain his overactive libido from making a move on Sammy.  
  
The sensations make Dean’s groin throb; the water running over his brother sends tingles along his skin where it flows down his torso, arms and back. Sam runs his thumb teasingly around the head of his cock, over the slit and ridges, as his precome washes down his length, slick with water. An image of Dean kneeling at his feet, wet and wanting, flashes through his mind. As a soft groan escapes, Sam begins to stroke himself slowly with well-practiced movements. Sam wants to feel Dean’s hand on his cock, sliding his tongue over the head, sucking him down his throat. Dean finds himself yearning for this too, enraptured by Sam’s fantasy.  
  
Sam’s thighs twitch as he begins jerking off with strong, smooth pulls. His hips rock back and forth slightly with his movement, teeth biting into his lower lip. He thought of how hot it would be to have Dean’s tongue lick the length of his cock, to trace the veins with the tip of his tongue. Sam bucks into his hand, fiery desire licking through his body. He brought his other fist to his mouth, biting into the knuckles as his steady strokes become more erratic.  
  
With his fist clamped in his mouth, pressing against his wound, the pain shoots straight to his groin; it’s like a trophy of saving Dean’s life and he is proud to bear it. His hand now jerks relentlessly, at a brutal pace, his whole body stiff as his hand snaps up and down his length. With a choked gasp, Sam feels the heat and pleasure began building in his belly, his balls tightened with impending release. Dean’s name is stifled into his fist, but screaming through his mind as he comes in thick spurts. It hits the tiles and disappears down the drain as quickly, to rid the evidence of his perversion from prying eyes.

 

 

The orgasm hits Dean in an intense wave; the pleasure and pain mixed in with so much intense emotion. It explodes through him, and all around him, he can hear sirens blaring. Castiel ran over to the Captain, who was covered in sweat, shaking violently, jerking about in the biobed.  
  
“I don’t know what happened, Doctor!” Doctor Crusher cried. “He was fairly stable until just seconds ago.”  
  
Castiel pressed two buttons on the console, lowering the electromagnetic energy field. He knew enough by now to assume less electrical energy would help when the Captain was overwhelmed like this.  
  
“That’s the third heart attack since he’s arrived back on the ship. We don’t know what’s causing them or if he’s even recovering at all. Should we alert Commander Winchester?” she asked, eyeing Dean warily as he continued to thrash about.  
  
“No,” Castiel answered, decisively. “Commander Winchester needs to sleep; I would confine him to quarters if I thought he would listen. Now that he’s finally left, I want him to get some rest and not dote on his brother’s every need for one night. The Captain will survive one night without his brother attached at the hip.”  
  
Dean stayed in the biochamber undisturbed for the next twenty-four hours. That entire time he was utterly aware of his ship and its performance. Having decided focusing on people was far too risky and would likely end up with Dean dying from a heart attack, he spent most of that time honing into his ship, learning her every crack that had been sealed, listening to the hum of the engine as it thrilled throughout the entire ship, the air flooded with energy from the life support systems.  
  
He had been so focused on the ship that he barely even realized how much time had gone by – and effectively, how quickly he had recovered. When Castiel came back on shift, he visited the Captain’s biobed first, like he always did. Dean was shocked to feel concern emanating from the doctor and forgot for a moment about keeping his mind focused on the ship. Castiel puzzled over the readouts, unsure if this was another equipment malfunction, or if they were in fact losing the Captain to the toxicity of those particles. The Captain had remained relatively stable up until his heart attack last night, but now his vitals showed a gradual decline over the last twenty-four hours.  
  
Dean felt himself jerk inwardly - **twenty-four hours?!** He tried to sit up but found that he could barely even twitch a muscle. So he concentrated all his energy into his body and making it move. It seemed to work and his eyes flew open. He could not quite move his arms, but Dean suspected that was due to the biobed. Castiel’s shock at seeing Dean suddenly open his eyes trilled straight to Dean’s heart. Castiel could not hide the joy from his face either, nor did it look like he wanted to contain it.  
  
“Captain! You’re awake!” he cried out and rushed over to turn the controls which would open up his coma chamber. His face split into a wide grin.  
  
As soon as the air pressure lock released, Dean could feel a weight lifting off of him and he made to sit up. He almost threw himself off the bed; he was so thankful to be able to move and got a bit over-enthusiastic. Thankfully, Castiel was able to grab him by the shoulders and steady him.  
  
“Whoa, Captain, careful there.” Castiel cautioned.  
  
Dean could feel himself smiling ridiculously, though he was pretty sure that wasn’t entirely influenced by the doctors and surrounding nurses’ outbursts of glee.  
  
“I’m glad you’re alright, Captain,” Castiel said, patting his shoulder. Dean could hear Doctor Crusher crying “Thank goodness!” in the other room and several other nurses on duty had burst into tears. This made Dean feel awfully smug.  
  
“Didn’t realize you’d miss me so much.” He flashed a broad grin at Castiel, indicating the nurses with a jerk of his head.  
  
Castiel glanced over his head to look and let out a small chuckle. “You’ve had us all worried, Captain. We really thought you were going to die for a while there.”  
  
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Dean said sheepishly.  
  
Castiel released him and Dean swayed slightly on the bed, almost overjoyed at finally being back in his own body. He was still hypersensitive to his surroundings; the lights were over bright, the rustling of Castiel’s coat as he moved away was amplified threefold. Before, he had mostly experienced this outside his body, though at some point he must have regained enough control to contain his mind inside his own body. He could still _feel_ so much, but no longer was he delving into people’s minds or being shocked and overwhelmed with other people’s thoughts and feelings.  
  
“So, when can I get out of here, O’ wise Doctor?” Dean asked.  
  
“Captain, I know you are averse to spending any time in the sickbay, but in the last forty-eight hours, you did suffer three heart attacks, explosive decompression and at least two other serious conditions we were unable to record. I think I would be logical to assume that you would, in fact, _not_ be able to just walk out as soon as you woke up!” Castiel chided.  
  
_Well, Cas is back to his usual cheery bedside manner,_ Dean grumbled inwardly.  
  
“I’m going to have to run a number of tests before I can sign off on your release. I have to make sure that you are fit for duty.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, but he honestly couldn’t be surprised. Castiel enjoyed watching him suffer through examinations; this was just another piece of evidence.  
  
“Alright then, let’s get started. The faster you get going the faster I can get out of here,” Dean said, grimacing.  
  
“As you wish, Captain.” Castiel turned, holding his tricorder.  
  
He scanned Dean’s entire body – a strange feeling for him, because Dean could actually _feel_ the laser as it passed through his body, measuring and recording his current wellbeing. Castiel also referred to the computers surrounding the biobed as well as the main computer mounted on the sick bay wall. He took a blood sample, the first one he’d taken in ten years, Castiel informed Dean. When Dean protested, he said that he had to make sure there weren’t any underlying effects still present in his system that couldn’t be detected by the computers or tricorders.  
  
“As it stands, Captain, nothing we have recorded has been a truthful indicator of your actual state of wellbeing, this entire time.”  
  
“Really?” Dean asked. “How do you mean?”  
  
“For one thing, I periodically checked your pulse with the tricorder, the biochamber, and physically. I found that the machines have a completely different reading to the pulse you had when I checked it physically. Though I did find your neck pulse point gave a much higher heart rate than your wrist. It was extremely curious.”  
  
Dean’s brows furrowed at this – when had Castiel checked his pulse? As far as he could recall, nobody had physically touched him since he had been placed in this biochamber. Maybe Castiel meant with his freaky physic abilities? Dean decided he didn’t want to know and shuddered slightly.  
  
“Additionally, as far as we’ve been able to tell, you have been healed of all injuries. Not just the recent ones; all your scars have disappeared and old bone fractures have healed as though they never happened. According to the computers, you are in better health than ever on record.”  
  
“Alright, so I am a living enigma. But you’re done all you need to do now though, right? Can you sign me out already?” Dean asked anxiously, almost flying off the bed without waiting for an answer.  
  
“Not just yet, Captain,” Castiel raised a hand without looking at him, pointing at him while he adjusted the microscope and blood slide. “Stay right there. Until I know you are stable and will not be passing out or having another heart attack while you’re on the bridge, you will not move from that bed. Understood?” Castiel demanded.  
  
“Alright, sure. Just get on with it.” Dean pouted.  
  
Castiel did a few more computer scans and a thorough physical examination, which made Dean slightly uncomfortable. He had always suspected that Castiel used his empathic abilities to assist him in being such a great doctor, but now he was utterly certain of it. Wherever Castiel’s fingers touched, Dean could feel a secondary touch there, probing beneath the surface, exploring his very tissue. It proved that Castiel used more than just his medical knowledge to diagnose a patient; he sensed what the patient was feeling, in order to discover any ailment, which he could then use to prescribe a cure.  
  
Dean also had to display his physical health with a few short exercises, mostly to prove he would not spontaneously combust at the slightest exertion. Then he needed to display his motor and mental abilities, to show that the shock hadn’t damaged his capacity to command the ship in any way.  
  
When they were finally, mercifully done, Castiel showed him his medical report. It read that the Captain was in absolute, perfect health.  
  
“There you are, Captain. Signed and dated, as promised. You may report for duty.”  
  
Dean grinned, said, “Excellent, thank you, Cas,” and headed for the door.  
  
“Captain, I am assigning you to light duties. Do not engage in stressful or strenuous activity until we dock at Starbase 514. You are in better health now than when you were at the academy even, but we don’t know if that will last. Until I can be sure that our planet-side adventure is not having any ill side-effects, please be careful.” Castiel warned. Dean was too glad to be released to have that solemn speech get him down. He just nodded his acknowledgement to Castiel. On his way out, Dean detoured slightly to pass the cabinet that he knew held various contraceptive necessities. Deftly, he pulled open a drawer and swiped some condoms and lube, putting them in his pocket as he continued to the door.  
  
He tipped the nurses a cursory salute as he passed them, walking out into the hallway without stopping. He strode down the hall to the turbo lift, grinning at all the various shocked exclamations of “Captain!” following in his wake, from the crewmen and women he encountered on the way. He stepped into the Turbolift and directed it to take him to the bridge. When he walked out, it was onto a solemn bridge. His brother was in command, but refusing to sit in the Captain’s seat while everyone worked, silently and diligently.  
  
“Well, isn’t this a sight for sore eyes,” Dean spoke to the room at large, causing everyone jump. As they looked over at him, Dean announced to the bridge, “Captain, reporting for duty.”  
  
They all let out various exclamations of surprise. Ellen looked near tears as she welcomed him with a soft “Captain,” and a pat to the arm. Sam however, had the best welcome of all. He marched up the steps and over to Dean, stunned. But as soon as he stood in front of Dean, with a whispered, “Dean,” Sam pulled him into a fierce hug. Warmth and love and comfort and relief enveloped Dean and he clung to Sam, melting into his embrace. When they parted, Sam’s voice was gruff, eyes over bright. “Good to have you back, Dean.”  
  
Dean nodded. “It’s good to be back. Really good,” he replied softly.  
  
Crowley spoke to the Captain from his station “Now that you’re awake, it’s probably best that we go back to standard Warp speed, so Bobby can stop laying eggs worrying about his precious engine room overheating.”  
  
Dean cocked his head, “What speed are we doing?”  
  
“Warp 6, which, before you ask, is the maximum warp factor we could travel before it would become unsafe. Moose over there wanted to get you to a real hospital before your heart gave out.” Crowley answered, supposedly nonchalant. But Dean could feel his inner mind sigh with relief, knowing that the Captain had recovered.  
  
Dean looked around at all of them, slightly overwhelmed at the outpouring of gratitude and happiness his commanding officers directed at him.  
  
“You guys have done a brilliant job, that’s really great. Unfortunately, I’ve been assigned ‘light duties’, so I’ll be in my Ready Room for most of the day. Until then though, Sam, I would like you to come with me. I have quite a bit of scientific information that you might find interesting.” He smirked at the questioning look on Sam’s face. “Crowley, you have the conn.”  
  
Together they entered the Turbolift and Dean told the computer ‘medical lab’ as the doors shut. Dean had to concentrate to keep himself in check. Sam’s odor was overpowering in this confined space, and the heat radiating from his crazy hulking body seemed to fill the entire space, filling Dean’s senses and make his heart race in anticipation.  
  
“What’s this about, Dean?” Sam asked, though it sounded muffled to Dean’s ears, among all the other things that were Sam which were currently invading Dean’s psyche.  
  
“Not here, Sam. Let’s just say that you need to hear this, for the good of scientific discovery.” Dean desperately wanted to lean in and whisper to Sam, ‘I want you to hear what it was like for me’ or any combination of filthy innuendo. Thankfully the ride was short, and Dean nearly jumped out of the lift to free himself from temptation.  
  
Sam followed, unsuspecting, down the hall and into the currently unoccupied lab. The mountains of samples and completed experiments were being stored in this lab, Dean knew, making it the perfect place for a very private conversation.  
  
“Computer, seal door and don’t let anyone come in,” Dean commanded.  
  
“Dean, what are we doing here? There are much better places to talk about this –” Sam started, before Dean cut him off by whirling on him as soon as the door had closed. He advanced on Sam like a cat. He backed him up against the door, eyes predatory.  
  
“Dean?” Sam’s voice lowered, slightly intimated.  
  
Dean’s senses were overloading; he could feel every part of Sam in their close proximity, his skin practically vibrating with the emotions hurtling through both of them. His nostrils filled with the overwhelming aroma wafting from Sam’s every exposed pore. Dean could not take a breath to steady himself without feeling like his brain was going to suffocate on Sam’s scent. So he decided just to jump right in, no matter what his better judgement might have said.  
  
“Sammy,” Dean began, forcing himself to lock eyes with his taller brother, using those brown eyes as his anchor. “How much do you think that Veratas Volcano affected me?”  
  
Sam was stunned for a moment. Dean’s behaviour just now had lead Sam to believe that this wasn’t exactly how this ‘scientific discovery’ would be handled.  
  
“Uh - er, well,” Sam stuttered before collecting himself. “Cas said that your body absorbed a lot of the energy from the eruption and that’s what led to your body healing itself from those old wounds. You were pretty out of it at first, but Cas said that our readings could have been way off, due to how quickly you recovered...” Sam’s voice grew less confident as his brother gazed unblinkingly at him throughout. “Isn’t that... right? Dean?”  
  
Sam faltered now, as Dean took a step closer. He was looking distinctly predatory, advancing on Sam with a glint in his eye that unnerved him.  
  
“Oh, yes, Castiel was right about that. Mr Knowledge Bank could have come up with that just by looking at me, don’t you think, Sammy?”  
  
Sam’s forehead smoothed in realisation at what Dean was getting at.  
  
“There was something more,” they spoke in unison – Sam in gasped shock, Dean with throaty assurance. Sam gulped.  
  
“You know what that something was?” Dean asked. Sam shook his head slightly. “Let’s just say; I know what you did last night. In the shower, turned on by the pain of your injury and the satisfaction of rescuing me.”  
  
Sam went rigid. Eyes wide and muscles taught, tensed for fight or flight.  
  
“I was there, Sammy. I could feel it. I could feel you, how much you loved it. I could see you right up to the end, thinking about me. Your mind never wandered from me, not for a moment. Is that how it always is, Sam? Or was this a one-time thing? Just happened to imagine me, even when whacking off in the shower?”  
  
Sam’s breath hitched, real fear creeping over him now; Dean could almost _taste_ it. Dean moved even closer.  
  
“But I could feel you, I could see _inside_ you, Sam. I saw this wasn’t the first. Never knew you felt like that, Sam.” They were now merely a hands breadth apart. “How long, Sammy? How long have you felt this way?”  
  
Sam mind filled with panicked questions, freezing him in place. ‘ _When did he gain astral projection and psychic abilities? Was it a side-effect of the volcano? Was it reversible?’_ ‘ _How could he know all that_? _How much did he see?_ ’ He was truly afraid Dean had seen too much.  
  
Dean’s breath was warm, ghosting over the underside of Sam’s jaw. It was a strange sensation, being able to feel is own breath on his brother’s skin. At the same time, Sam’s huge exhaling gusts flew into his face, drowning it with every tormented emotion now flooding through Sam’s body and mind, right into Dean’s. Fear, anger, betrayal, shame, hurt, anticipation, need and want all flowed into him like he had a direct line to Sam’s emotions.  
  
“Even now, you want it. Just me, being this close to you, makes your heart race. Even while your shame and fear has kept you frozen against that door, you’re still begging for it. Yet you really don’t seem like you’re about to do anything about it.”  
  
Dean leaned in, closing the remaining gap between them. Sam’s aroma was positively overwhelming. Dean already felt like the two of them had joined bodies and it took every last ounce of patience not to slam Sam against the door and take him right then. Dean could feel Sam’s inner conflict filtering through, his brain running through everything that Dean had just said, the same shock still numbing his brain and not quite believing what was happening, while his cock screamed, “get on with it!”  
  
“It just looks like I’ll have to do that bit for you,” murmured Dean, body thrumming with arousal as his lips brushed lightly against his brothers.  
  
‘ _Because I **swear** to **god**  if you back out now...’_ were Dean’s last thoughts as he pressed his lips full against Sam’s. He leaned up into his brother’s body, hands skating lightly over Sam’s sides as he angled his hips, chest and lips so that he fit along his brother’s body perfectly. The sensation was incredible. Dean had no idea how to understand what he was feeling; all he knew was that he wanted **more**. He shifted against Sam’s chest and brushing over his right nipple, teasing it to a stiffened bud. Dean felt a spark of intense pleasure rush through his own right nipple, their combined arousal flooding his mind.  
  
Sam was in shock, barely processing the fact that _Dean was kissing him_. But now that Dean had made the first move, Sam chose to ignore the surrealism of the current situation and followed his cock’s lead. He brought his hands up and splayed them across Dean’s back, using them to crush Dean against him. Sam had imaged this a thousand times, and now it was finally happening. It made him salacious, and Dean smiled inwardly.  
  
Sam’s hands radiated heat across his back and Dean felt like his entire body was being engulfed in a warm cocoon. He opened his mouth willingly at Dean’s first, slick swipe of tongue over Sam’s lips. Dean shuddered at the feeling. Sam’s tongue met his and their kiss turned into the strangest, wildest, and sexiest kiss Dean had ever had. The heat of Sam’s mouth traveled down his throat and up to his brain. Sam’s tongue curled around his, hot and slick, goose bumps erupted all over his body with their combined desire. Sam’s hands seemed to be everywhere, or perhaps that was what it felt like, because Sam’s mind was running through all the times he had fantasized about being able to run his hands over Dean like this.  
  
“This isn’t something new for you either, is it? How many men have you fucked, wishing it was me?” Dean growled with an animalistic jealousy. Sam groaned, writhing uncontrollably, moaning and grunting but Dean knew he was agreeing and trying to answer, but couldn’t because of those fucking _fingers_ rubbing his nipples just the way he liked it. Dean felt a vague ‘ _many’_ and it burned him to know that others had had Sammy before him.  He bent down and bit Sam’s exposed neck, marking him, claiming Sam for himself.  
  
Sucking wetly, he dragged his tongue slid across the skin. The warmth of his mouth and teeth hard against his skin caused Sam to moan with lust. A hand moved to Dean’s shoulder, rubbing the same sweet spot on his neck with his thumb. When Dean lifted his head, leaving the now bruised spot with a final lick over Sam’s clavicle, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the underside of Sam’s jaw. He’s so close to Sam’s mouth again, but Sam growled impatiently and used his grip on Dean’s shoulder to pull Dean flush against him.  
  
Dean felt the fabric that created a maddening barrier of friction between their skin and each other. They wanted to be naked, desperate for skin-on-skin contact, yet reluctant to break away. Dean pressed his crotch to Sam’s, hissing when he felt the thick bulge of Sam’s cock and taut balls straining against his trousers. Their minds were a fog of lust, breathless as they moved against each other, mouths tasted salty skin, pawed at clothing in a futile effort to be rid of them. It was too much for Dean.  
  
“Wait, stop, Sam. I can’t,” Dean gasped, pulling back from Sam. “You need to strip. Can’t think straight, just help me out here.”  
  
Obliging, Sam kicked off his boots and lifted his arms to take off his shirt in a single movement. As his naked torso was revealed, Dean felt a hungry desire pool in his belly. Sam’s muscles flexed deliciously under the skin, and Dean swiftly rid himself of his shirt. Fumbling with the zip to undo his trousers was more difficult though, as his mind was filled with Sam’s ‘ _need you inside of me’_ and was only capable of shoving them down past his hips to release his hardened cock. Sam had thankfully rid himself of his bottoms, and was lying back naked on the science table. Dean reached out and gripped Sam’s hip, sweeping his thumb over the skin, ghosting over the dark shadow of pubic hair.  
  
Reaching up with his other hand, Dean rubbed his fingers over Sam’s nipple, and Sam let out a soft groan as he arched slightly to meet Dean’s touch. Dean leaned down to capture Sam’s mouth in a rough kiss, tongue and teeth clashing together. When they broke apart, Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out the condom and lube he’d swiped from Medical earlier. Setting the lube on the table, Dean ripped open the condom and rolled it on with well practiced, but slightly shaking fingers. Then he reached for the lube, popped it open and squeezed a liberal amount over his fingers, before setting it to the side once again.  
  
Fingers now slick, he slid down to press against Sam’s opening, circling the ring of muscle. Slowly, Dean dipped the tip of his index finger inside; continuously dragging his finger in circular movements, he felt the delightful friction go straight to Sam’s twitching cock. Sam opened easily, allowing Dean to push the slender finger all the way in. Sam let out a low groan as Dean stroked Sam’s insides, lightly thrusting to meet Sam’s undulating hips. A second slick finger slid neatly in to join the first, and Dean began thrusting with more force. Dean could feel Sam begging for more and slowly added a third finger. Sam barely needed time to adjust, hips bucking to meet Dean with vigour.  
  
“Please, Dean, oh god, ah,” Sam moaned. “Please, I want you inside of me. I need to feel you inside me.”  
  
Dean’s lust slammed into him at Sam’s need, leaving him momentarily breathless. He stilled his fingers before slowly withdrawing them, causing Sam to whimper softly at the loss, and reached to pick up the bottle of lube again.  
  
They were both shaking with arousal as Dean took the agonizing seconds to cover himself in lube and line up with Sam’s entrance. When his cock nudged against Sam’s opening, already stretched wide in anticipation, Dean pushed in slowly. Despite Sam’s eagerness, he was so tight around Dean. Dean paused, feeling the burn as Sam’s hole stretched around him for the first time.  
  
Dean could hear Sam cursing his body’s need to adjust, impatient to feel Dean moving inside of him. But Dean would wait; no amount of lust or need would have him do anything that might hurt his Sam. The ridge of his cockhead nestled against the ring of Sam’s asshole, rubbing against the sensitive skin there as Sam clenched and unclenched in time with his breaths. When he felt that Sam was ready, he pushed slowly inside, until he was completely buried inside.  
  
Again, he waited, though this time because he could _feel_ himself inside Sam. He could feel what it felt like to have the fullness of his erection buried inside Sam, as if he was the one being penetrated. Dean glanced up at Sam, taking in the sight of his brother, brow furrowed, a slight blush rising on his cheeks, mouth open with unguarded lust. His heart jumped to his throat, and he took a few moments to regain his composure after admiring how fucking _hot_ his brother looked.  
  
Grabbing Sam’s hips to steady himself, Dean began to thrust, slow and deliberate. On each outward stroke, Sam squeezed himself around Dean, dragging guttural moans from Dean’s throat. Sam reached out with his long arms and placed his hands on Dean’s hips, pulling him closer, deepening each thrust.  
  
They moved together, rutting and grinding, biting and sucking, every nerve on fire. Dean was experiencing too much to last long, and within minutes, he was coming, screaming as his entire body exploded with his release. Sam reached down to jerk himself off, his strokes almost pulling the orgasm from Dean’s cock. When Dean had regained some of his senses, he reached down and placed his hand on Sam’s, wanting to take over. Dean had learned a few tricks from earlier and in a few short minutes, had Sam stuttering and shaking under him, begging for release.  
  
Sam’s orgasm builds slowly, a fire pooling inside that washed over him, causing Sam to whimper and gasp. Sam was teetering on the edge, he moaned loudly, hips bucking erratically, fingers gripping Dean tightly, fingernails biting as they dug into the skin, and then he was coming, crying out Dean’s name. Sam’s release splashed come over their bellies, and Dean can feel it too, and it’s like he’s coming all over again, his over-sensitive body on fire.  
  
Dean collapsed against Sam, spent. He adjusted slightly so he could pull out of Sam, rip off the condom, and slide boneless to the floor. Sam joined him amongst their discarded clothing, enveloping him in a warm embrace.  
  
“Sammy, all this time we could have been having sex in your lab – wasted!” Dean chuckled, leaning close to Sam.  
  
“Yes, but now with shore leave coming up, I have a feeling that this room and every other room on the ship is going to come in _very_ useful.” Sam smirked, eyebrows waggling suggestively. Dean laughed and leaned in to kiss him, a quick, playful nip on his lips, almost promising.  
  
Dean is sure that the world-altering revelation of his brother’s love for him will hit him in the not too distant future, but for the moment, while Sam’s unguarded happiness washes over him, all he can feel is content and bliss. He feels that right now, there is nothing wrong and no one can touch them. Sam turned to his face to Dean’s, rubbing his cheek on Dean’s forehead. Now that their lust had been momentarily satisfied, Sam thought about how lucky Dean was to still be here.  
  
“I thought you were gone” Sam whispered. Dean felt the enormity of Sam’s anguish. “You died. When we beamed back, I watched you die, but couldn’t do a thing.” He closed his eyes, willing back tears.  
  
“Sam,” Dean pressed a light kiss to his forehead. “I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.” Dean can feel a ‘ _but what about next time’_ simmering in Sam’s mind. “I’m not, Sam. We both know the dangers of our jobs, but we’re alive because we watch each other’s backs. Just like you did on Beta VT. I wouldn’t have made it if it weren’t for you. The natives would have killed me. The quark particles almost killed me, but you were there.”  
  
“I’ll always been there for you, Dean.”  
  
For a few moments, they just looked at each other, mind swirling with everything that had happened in the last two days. Then Sam smiled softly, bringing a hand to stroke Dean’s cheek as their lips met in a slow, sensual kiss. Dean’s hands slide into Sam’s hair, and they kiss slow and deliberate, savouring each other in this moment. Inside their hearts, a light, warm intensity spreads, and it’s deeper than love. It’s home.

 

  
  
Later, once Dean has recovered enough to stand, he dressed with unsteady hands. Once he was fully clothed again, smoothing his rumpled shirt, he tapped his comm. badge. He hailed Ellen.  
  
“Ellen, can you contact Starfleet Command and then patch it through to my Ready Room?”  
  
“Sure thing, Captain,” was Ellen’s immediate response.  
  
“Guess I better go be Captain.” Dean flashed a smug grin at Sam as he strode toward the door, a haughty spring in his step. Sam rolled his eyes at Dean, shaking his head in amusement.  
  
“I saw that! Don’t need to be psychic to write you up for insubordination!” Dean shouted from the doorway, sounding as though he would love nothing more. Sam chuckled as the door closed.  
  
Dean strode purposefully to his Ready Room, invigorated, mind already on the upcoming discussion with Starfleet Command. He was looking forward to filing _this_ report.  
  
Up ahead, Bobby and Crowley were walking down the hall together, arguing as usual, with stilted, swift gestures and hushed tones. Dean did not feel any animosity emanating from them, however, and paused. He felt a slight pang of guilt for spying, but he pushed it down, overcome with curiosity. He zoned in on the two.  
  
They were whispering furiously at one another, arguing over names.  
  
“I should call you Daemon. It’s your ruddy first name!” Bobby hissed without venom.  
  
“I’ve told you before, _Robert_ , that the name’s ‘Crowley.’ Halanan’s call each other by their last name”  
  
“Well that’s just stupid! Can’t have you going around calling me by my first name and then me calling ya ‘Crowley’. People’ll think that’s plain weird, ya idgit.”  
  
“In case you may not have noticed, _love_ , no one could give a toss. They’ll be much more surprised if suddenly you start calling me a name most people don’t even know I have.”  
  
“Still think you’re crazy,” Bobby grumbled.  
  
“I wasn’t the one who insisted on sanity.”  
  
“Oi! It’s not like you’re going to any lengths to pretend otherwise, damn idgit. We’re practically married at the hip, so don’t see why –”  
  
“Bobby,” Crowley interrupted, purring. “Did you just mention ‘marriage’?” Bobby flushed deep red and said nothing. Crowley smirked and leaned in close.  
  
“Alright. You got yourself a deal. If you think you can handle me.”  
  
Dean jerked back to himself, irrevocably certain that he did not want to know where **that** conversation was going. He stoutly refused to look over at them and hurried on to his Ready Room.  
  
Once inside, he strode over to his desk, pulling his laptop toward him. Gleefully, he opened the transmission when he saw it waiting as he sat down. Admiral Paris appeared on screen.  
  
“Why hello there, Admiral, glad I could speak to you on such short notice,” Dean said.  
  
“Yes, it’s good to see you, Captain. I’m glad to see you out of sick bay; I hear you’ve had quite a rough ride.” Admiral Paris looked at Dean with concern.  
  
“You could certainly say that,” Dean chuckled. “That is what I’d like to speak to you about. I’ll be sending along a detailed report of our little excursion to Beta VT. But suffice to say that the Federation’s records could not have prepared us for our visit to the planet. We accidentally violated the Prime Directive, and the lack of resources on this ship put my crew at unnecessary risk. Essential repairs were delayed to fill this mission, Admiral, and while it may not be my place to question a superior’s orders, I was right in saying we should not have delayed docking at Starbase 514.”  
  
Admiral Paris nodded. “In hindsight, that much is obvious. I assume you will be filing a complaint about Zachariah’s orders?”  
  
“Yes,” Dean confirmed.  
  
“Very well. I look forward to your report, and I’ll take your complaint under consideration personally.”  
  
“Thank you, Admiral.” With a nod, they closed the channel. Dean hummed to himself, tapping his fingers on the desk. He contemplated how to best formulate his complaint, knowing he would need to collect information from the ships logs to back up his arguments. He spent the remainder of the day doing so; he reviewed the crew’s reports and compiled them into the final draft he would send to Starfleet. As he did so, Dean extracted anything that backed up his claims of Zachariah placing the _Impala_ and her crew in unnecessary danger.  
  
After forwarding his communication to Admiral Paris, Dean stretched and went to the replicator and asked for a strong coffee. He savoured the taste and the buzz he felt when the caffeine entered his bloodstream.  
  
Eventually, he left the quiet of his Ready Room and ventured onto the bridge, smiling and nodding at his crew.  
  
“Gabriel, how far are we from Starbase 514?” Dean asked as he settled in his chair.  
  
“We’re close, Captain. About two hours away.”  
  
“Excellent. As soon as we dock, I want everyone off this ship. The entire crew is ordered to take shore leave for at least forty-eight hours. Repairs can be started by the Starbase staff, you guys deserve a break.”  
  
A collective cheer resounded, and would no doubt spread throughout the ship at this welcomed order.  
  
“Captain, communication incoming from Starfleet. Admiral Paris wishes to speak with you, Sir,” Ellen said.  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow. _‘Wow, that was pretty damn fast,’_ Dean thought. “On screen,” he said, knowing this had to be good news, and wanting to share it with the rest of his comrades.  
  
Admiral Owen filled the view screen, his demeanor humming with contained delight. “You will be pleased to know, Captain, Rear Admiral Zachariah has been reprimanded. Currently, he is suspended following an investigation into command misconduct. Several other complaints have been served to Zachariah in the last few years, but following this infringement of the Prime Directive, the Federation is conducting a full investigation.” The crew shifted, and Dean could feel them attempting to repress their grins.  
  
“Thank you, Admiral, for informing us. We will soon be arriving at the base, but please feel free to contact any of my crew should you need any assistance in the investigation. I’m sure they’d be happy to oblige,” Dean grinned broadly.  
  
Admiral Paris nodded, “Enjoy your vacation. It’s well deserved.”  
  
Dean hit the button to close the channel. The bridge exploded with ‘ _whoop_ ’s of satisfaction, vindicated with Zachariah’s suspension. Dean grinned, allowing them this moment to savor karma kicking Zachariah in the ass.  
  
Dean looked over to Sam, leaning against the science station and thought of last night, being buried of inside him. He let his mind wander for a brief moment, imagining the bridge vacant and their naked bodies writhing together, Dean riding Sam as he reclined back in this chair. Sam looked around and caught his eye, a mischievous twinkle that let Dean know he was thinking exactly the same thing. Apparently, they both really wanted to have sex in the chair.  
  
Dean looked away; the thoughts sparked a fiery lust that caused his cheeks to blush pink. To Dean’s great relief, he could no longer see Sam’s thoughts or feel his emotions in great detail. It was more of an inclining, so clearly the telepathy was fading. He was glad to have the quiet of his own thoughts returning, rather than being bombarded with a hundred other voices. Now that everything seemed to be returning to normal, Dean was _really_ looking forward to some time off.  
  
The excitement amongst the crew was now palpable. Shore leave was so close, and now they didn’t even have to worry about Zachariah breathing down their necks. Dean felt certain the crew would vacate the second they docked, and he would have plenty of privacy to explore Sam in rapturous detail in various places on the _Impala_. His thoughts of bending Sam over the science station were interrupted when Crowley announced their arrival.  
  
“Captain, we’ve arrived at Starbase 514. Initiating docking sequence.” Crowley stated, manoeuvred the _Impala_ with exacting precision. As soon as the docking clamps released, Dean initiated a shutdown of all non-essential systems.  
  
“Crew, you are relieved.” Dean stood, saluting his staff with a board grin as they filed out. “Enjoy your vacation, everyone!” He walked over to Sam, who lagged behind, and tapped his hand against Sam’s thigh. Dean lead him over to his Ready Room, an implying smile played on Dean lips, with one thought on his mind.


End file.
